Unfit for Duty
by Deana
Summary: Aramis suddenly has a physical problem that he keeps a secret from the others, assuming that it's nothing and will go away. When it doesn't and they're given a new mission, he has to keep the secret so he can go with them. BAD idea. (Not a deathfic!)
1. Lightheaded

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 **Unfit for Duty  
** A Musketeers story  
By Deana

Takes place after episode 10 of season 1.  
This story is NOT a deathfic!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _"Aramis?"_

 _The voice was familiar, but it sounded as if it was under water…or maybe_ _he_ _was. He recognized the voice, but at the same time, he had no idea who it belonged to._

 _"Aramis?"_

Suddenly a hand gripped his shoulder, and Aramis looked up into the smiling face of d'Artagnan.

"Were you falling asleep?" their youngest asked, looking like he was about to laugh.

"Not unless he sleeps with his eyes open," came Athos' voice.

Aramis looked around, seeing all three of his friends looking at him where he sat. He raised a hand and ran it through his hair.

Porthos frowned. His friend didn't look like his usual self. "You all right?"

Aramis nodded. The action unexpectedly made him feel lightheaded. "I'm fine. Maybe I _was_ dozing off." He didn't know what else could've caused such an odd episode.

"Did you not sleep well last night?" Athos asked.

Aramis hesitated. He'd slept fine.

They took his hesitation to mean that he hadn't, and they all had the same thought: Savoy. Aramis had been plagued with terrible nightmares since that hellish event, and even five years later, they still reared their ugly head.

"You're just tired," said Porthos, relieved to find out the 'reason' for whatever it was that had just happened to his friend. "I know what you need: a drink."

Aramis smiled. Though he was puzzled over what had just overtaken him, he decided to act like nothing had happened. He smiled and stood, turning to take his hat off the table. He grew instantly lightheaded again, but since his back was turned, he was able to hide it. Putting his hat on, he kept his eyes lowered as he gestured 'after you' to Porthos, who was standing closest to him.

As they left the garrison, Aramis found that the lightheadedness didn't leave, and he desperately hoped that he wasn't falling ill as they headed to the nearest tavern.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Porthos refilled everyone's mugs as he regaled d'Artagnan with an embellished tale of his supreme bravery. Athos sat quietly and never contradicted him, even when Porthos accidentally—or maybe purposely—mixed two separate incidents together.

D'Artagnan was riveted on him, listening to every word. Athos wasn't sure if the young Gascon was believing it all or not.

Aramis was quiet too, after not even finishing his second drink, and not touching his mug after Porthos refilled it. He was blinking tiredly, and suddenly tipped a little to the side away from Porthos, who he was sitting next to.

Athos, across from Aramis, reached over and grabbed his arm, stopping him from possibly falling.

Aramis' eyes opened all the way and he looked at Athos, confused.

"Looks like someone has had too much!" d'Artagnan said, as he lifted his mug and drank.

Athos knew that to _not_ be the case, as he'd seen how much Aramis _hadn't_ drank. "Aramis?" he said.

Aramis blinked again. "I'm just tired," he told him, echoing Porthos' earlier words.

Athos' eyes narrowed. "Is something wrong that you aren't telling us?"

"No," Aramis said. How could he tell his friend that he had no idea what had happened to him earlier and that he was lightheaded for no apparent reason?

Athos stared at his friend, but it was hard to read him, thanks to his own inebriated state. "You should go to bed."

Aramis nodded, which only made him even more lightheaded. _What on Earth is going on?_ he asked himself.

Athos stood and drained his mug. "Time to go, gentlemen," he told the others. "We have another busy day tomorrow." Truth be told, he could've drank another bottle of wine on his own, but something was inwardly telling him to get Aramis back to the garrison.

Porthos and d'Artagnan finished their own drinks and stood with no complaints. They were training new Musketeer recruits in the art of swordplay, and knew that they had to be at their best.

Aramis stood slowly, trying not to seem obvious. He didn't understand where this persistent lightheadedness was coming from, and he certainly didn't want to fall flat on the floor in public.

The others were grabbing their hats and didn't notice.

Not long after, they'd arrived back at the garrison and headed up to their rooms, saying goodnight to each other.

Aramis felt a hand on his arm as he reached for his doorknob. He turned his head, trying to stop himself from openly reacting to the lightheadedness.

"Sleep well," said Athos. "You know where I am if you need me."

Obviously Athos didn't believe him when he said that nothing was wrong. Aramis smiled at him. "I'm fine. Thank you."

Athos gave him a stern look as if not believing him before walking away.

Aramis went into his room, but something prevented him from closing the door. It was, as he expected, Porthos.

"Nightmares again, Aramis?" Porthos asked, entering the room behind him.

Aramis knew that his best friend had a big heart and sympathized with him over the severe trauma that he'd been dealt during the mission in Savoy. Aramis sat in a chair with a sigh. "Sometimes," he said, vaguely.

Porthos nodded. "Want me to stay?"

Aramis smiled. Porthos had slept in a chair, on the floor, on a cot, and anything else in the room that he could find so that Aramis wouldn't be alone in the days after Savoy. Even weeks later, when his terrifying nightmares woke everyone in the surrounding rooms of the garrison, Porthos was always the first one to make it to Aramis' side, and wouldn't leave the room for the rest of the night. "You don't have to, I'm all right. I think I'll sleep well tonight."

"You sure?" Porthos asked.

Aramis nodded, even though it increased the lightheadedness. "I'm sure."

Porthos nodded back. "Okay. You better not be lyin'."

Aramis smiled again. "I'm not lying. I'm tired enough to sleep like a log."

Porthos nodded again. "All right." He stepped forward and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Night."

"Goodnight," Aramis replied. He watched as Porthos left, before closing his eyes and covering them with one hand, exhaling heavily. The lightheadedness felt even stranger with his eyes closed and he reopened them, wishing that he'd sat on his bed, not in the chair. It was a few minutes before he slowly stood and removed his weapons and jacket, shuffling over to his bed. He sat down and kicked off his boots before lying down still clothed. The lightheadedness was easier to deal with when flat, and as he drifted off to sleep, he hoped that he'd be fine in the morning.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _Bodies littered the ground, more than Aramis was able to comprehend. His head was throbbing painfully and his vision was blurred, making it even harder to see them. Snow fell around him and the cold was making him shiver terribly. All he could do was stare in shock at the carnage...twenty Musketeers dead...on a training mission?_

Suddenly, Aramis found himself sitting on the floor beside his bed, breathing heavily. He looked around the room and wondered how he'd gotten out of bed...did he get up or simply fall out? He noticed that sunlight was streaming into the room; so it was morning. How had the night passed so quickly? It had to be very early, for he knew that after his odd behavior yesterday, one or more of his friends would soon be at his door.

Aramis took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he calmed down from the dream. The image of those slaughtered Musketeers would never leave his memory for the rest of his life, he was sure of it.

He must've dozed off, for there was a sudden knock at his door and he was startled.

"Aramis?" It was Athos.

Aramis quickly scrambled to his feet and sat on the side of his bed. "Come in," he called. Suddenly, he realized that the lightheadedness was barely there, compared to last night.

Athos walked in, dressed and ready for the day. He studied his friend for a moment before he said, "Did you have a more restful night?"

Aramis nodded and put on a fake smile. "Much more restful, I feel fine."

Athos wasn't sure whether to believe him, but he nodded. "Good. Hurry or you'll miss breakfast."

"I'll be right down," Aramis told him.

Athos nodded again and left.

Aramis sighed and stood, relieved when the lightheadedness didn't increase. It was barely there, just enough to remind him of its presence.

Minutes later, just as Aramis was picking up his jacket, there was another knock. "Come in, Porthos," he said.

The door opened and Porthos walked in. "Am I that predictable?"

Aramis smiled. "I simply know your knock, my friend."

Porthos made a face. "You can identify us by the way we knock?"

Aramis smiled wider. "Can't you?"

Porthos chuckled and sat down as Aramis buckled his belt over his jacket. "Sleep better last night? Any nightmares?"

Aramis shook his head. "None," he lied.

"Good," Porthos said. He picked up his friend's sword belt and handed it to him.

Aramis strapped it on before putting on his hat. He looked at Porthos and gave a theatrical sigh, inwardly hoping that the lightheadedness wouldn't come back. "Ready to face another day protecting France?"

Porthos nodded. "Always."

TBC


	2. Accident

Breakfast was a hurried affair, as Captain Treville wanted to continue training the new Musketeer recruits in the art of swordplay before it began to rain, which didn't seem to be far off. They'd had a lot of rain in the past week, and the courtyard was still wet from the showers that had fallen the previous day.

Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan sat at a table watching as Athos fought one of the recruits. Treville shouted out commands to the young man, and it was obvious that Athos was holding back, as the man was not especially skilled.

Aramis sat watching, holding his own sword. He'd removed his coat and left it on the table with his hat, expecting to be called at any moment. He was right.

"Aramis!" Treville exclaimed.

Aramis stood and adjusted his suspenders before heading over as Athos and his opponent left the field. He smiled at the nervous young man that he was to fight, remembering that his name was Pierre. "Don't worry," Aramis said. "I won't kill you."

Pierre smiled and relaxed slightly.

"Begin!" Treville shouted.

Aramis fell into a fighting stance and 'attacked', hoping that Pierre would be able to meet it head on. He did, and blocked Aramis' sword.

Treville did the same thing with this recruit, yelling commands as he and Aramis literally taught him how to fight. It went well, until Pierre danced past Aramis to strike from behind and Aramis spun to block the blow. Unexpectedly, the lightheadedness returned with a vengeance, and Aramis was too taken by surprise to fully raise his sword in time.

Pierre accidentally sliced the Musketeer's left forearm and Aramis fell to the ground, the lightheadedness making it impossible for him to keep his balance.

Gasps echoed through the air, but Aramis didn't hear any of them as he lay there, eyes closed against the dizziness that clouded his senses. Suddenly, three pairs of hands were pulling him into a sitting position, and he opened his eyes.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed, kneeling in front of him. "What happened?!"

Aramis fought to hide the fact that everything was spinning around him. Not even sure what to say, he raised his bleeding left arm to see how bad the injury was.

Treville suddenly appeared. "Are you all right?" he asked.

The cut wasn't too deep; he'd been sliced by the very tip of the sword. "I'm fine," Aramis told him.

Treville looked at the other three. "Take him upstairs and sort him out."

Porthos pulled Aramis up and escorted him towards the steps. With his friend's hand gripping his arm so tightly, Aramis was able to walk straight and not display the fact that he was dizzy.

"Did you slip in the mud?" Porthos asked as they walked up the stairs.

That seemed like as good an excuse as any. "Yes," Aramis answered. "It was foolish."

"It can happen to anyone," Athos said as they reached Aramis' room.

Aramis heard an odd tone in his voice; obviously, Athos was still thinking that something was wrong with him...and he was right.

Porthos sat Aramis down on his bed as Athos went for Aramis' medical supplies and d'Artagnan grabbed the water basin on the small table in the corner. Porthos pushed up Aramis' bloody sleeve to display the cut, which was two inches long. "Does it hurt?" he asked, studying it.

"Of course not," Aramis replied with a sarcastic smile, hoping that he was still successfully hiding his dizziness, which hadn't gone away.

Porthos chuckled at his answer.

D'Artagnan placed the basin on the nightstand and dropped a towel in it before wringing it out and handing it to Porthos, who gently tried to wipe the blood away before taking a different towel from d'Artagnan…one that had the distinctive smell of alcohol on it.

Aramis sucked in a deep breath as Porthos held the cloth over the wound. The sting was awful and he instinctively tried to pull his arm away, but Porthos' other hand was gripping his wrist, stopping any attempt to move.

Athos knew by the amount of blood on their friend's sleeve that the wound needed stitching, so without even looking at it first, he threaded a needle and brought a chair over. "Lie down."

Aramis let out a shuddering breath when Porthos removed the alcohol-soaked cloth. "But it's only my arm."

"Lie down," Athos repeated.

Porthos pushed on Aramis to make him comply, and once he'd obeyed, Athos looked at d'Artagnan and pointed to the bed. "Sit there and hold his arm down."

D'Artagnan obeyed, and Porthos went around to the other side of the bed and grasped Aramis' other shoulder to keep him still.

Aramis frowned. "It's only my arm."

Athos wiped more blood away before starting. " _You_ may be able to perfectly stitch people in your sleep, but none of _us_ are as capable."

Aramis had to agree when he felt the first stab of the needle. His body jerked involuntarily and Porthos tightened his hold.

"The recruit you were fighting was better than Athos' recruit," Porthos said.

Aramis knew that his friend was trying to draw him into a conversation to distract him from the pain. "Yes, he was."

"You should've seen his face when he sliced you."

Aramis sighed. He could just imagine. "I'll have to apologize to him."

"For what?" said d'Artagnan. "He's the one who got _you_."

"But it wasn't his—" Aramis broke off when the needle pierced his flesh again. "—fault."

"Wasn't yours either," said Porthos. "It's the mud's fault."

Aramis chuckled, but it turned into a gasp thanks to Athos again. Really, the fault lay with the strange lightheadedness that had made him stumble, but he wasn't about to tell that to his friends.

A few minutes later, Athos was finished and Aramis painfully raised his arm to look at the row of stitches. "Not the worst job I've seen."

D'Artagnan chuckled and looked at Athos.

"I'll take that as a compliment," Athos replied. "Did you hit your head when you fell?"

"No," Aramis said.

Everyone was relieved at that, and watched as Athos wrapped a bandage around his arm.

"Thank you," Aramis said, before moving to sit up.

Athos held him down. "Where are you going?"

Aramis blinked. "Back outside."

Athos shook his head. "Stay here, get some rest. I'll tell Treville that you fell asleep."

Aramis frowned. "It's only my arm," he said again.

"Listen to the man, Aramis," said Porthos. "It's not often that we get a day off to lie around."

"Treville will think it's ridiculous," said Aramis. "It's only my arm."

"Is 'it's only my arm' all you can say?" d'Artagnan joked.

"I'll tell him that you are tired," Athos said.

Instantly, Aramis understood. Treville knew about the sickening nightmares that he'd been left with after Savoy, and if Athos said that, then the captain would assume that the nightmares had returned and could've even been the cause of the 'lack of attention' that had caused him to slip.

"No arguments," said Athos.

Looking at his friend, Aramis could see that he still suspected that something was wrong with him. "All right," he said. "No arguments."

D'Artagnan looked at Athos. "Can you tell Treville that _I'm_ tired?'

Athos gave a slight smile and the two of them started heading for the door.

Porthos chuckled at them before going over to the dresser against the far wall and retrieving a clean shirt. He went back over to the bed and helped Aramis get his bloody shirt off before saying, "Are they bad?"

Aramis knew that he meant the nightmares. Sometimes they were absolutely horrifying, but sometimes he simply dreamed that he was standing in the frozen woods alone. He couldn't lie to his best friend, especially when he was sitting there staring at him. "Not the worst," he said. At least it was true that he _did_ dream of it last night, so he wasn't lying.

Porthos nodded as he helped Aramis get the clean shirt on so he wouldn't have to use his injured arm much. "That's good, at least."

Aramis nodded back, but it unexpectedly made him dizzier.

Porthos saw his friend's face suddenly get paler. "You all right?"

"Fine," Aramis said, as he laid back down. "Just tired…and my arm hurts."

Porthos chuckled. "Aramis, the great Musketeer, brought down by a lowly recruit."

Aramis chuckled back. "Go away so I can sleep."

Porthos nodded and stood, taking his friend's ruined shirt so he could dispose of it for him. "Right. No bad dreams now, ya hear me?"

Aramis nodded and closed his eyes.

Porthos headed for the door and quietly closed it behind him.

Aramis reopened his eyes with a sigh. He supposed the unexpected injury was partly a good thing, as the dizziness hadn't faded and he wouldn't be able to train any recruits this way. He was definitely better off lying down. He still couldn't understand why it was happening though, as he didn't have any other symptoms.

With another sigh, Aramis fell asleep, and this time, he didn't dream of Savoy.

TBC


	3. Tired

Athos told Treville that Aramis was asleep, and their captain accepted it with a nod, knowing of the awful nightmares that plagued Aramis since the slaughter in Savoy. They'd continued the training without him, and Pierre felt terrible about hurting Aramis and wished to apologize. Athos told him that he would have an opportunity later, as he assumed that Aramis would eventually come back outside.

By lunchtime, Aramis had yet to come down, and though they were all surprised—as it had been four hours—they were glad that he was getting the sleep that he obviously needed.

"I'm gonna go see if he's awake," Porthos said; as the others sat down to eat. He had a bowl of stew in each hand, obviously intending to bring one up to their friend.

Athos nodded. "If he is, let us know and we'll come up." He still had the nagging feeling that something beyond nightmares was wrong with Aramis that he wasn't telling them.

Porthos nodded and headed for the stairs, quickly climbing them and approaching their friend's door. He tried to open it quietly and succeeded before peeking inside and spotting Aramis still lying quietly on his bed, eyes closed. Part of him expected Aramis to be awake, and he hesitated before quietly creeping inside, intending to leave the bowl on the nightstand so it would be there when Aramis woke up.

Porthos placed the bowl down and turned to go, but after one step, he suddenly heard, "Porthos?" Turning, he found his friend's eyes open. "Sorry," he said, contrite. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Aramis blinked at him a little groggily. He was still dizzy.

"I left you some stew," Porthos said; seeing that his friend didn't appear fully awake.

Those words and the smell of the delicious food seemed to penetrate the fog in Aramis' mind, and he blinked again. "Thank you." He started to sit up, before wincing and using just his right arm.

Porthos took the bowl off the nightstand and handed it to him. "You sure you're awake enough to eat that?" he asked, thinking that his friend still looked half-asleep.

Aramis nodded, which was foolish as it only increased the dizziness and he nearly missed the spoon when he reached for it.

Porthos went over to the window and leaned out, spotting Athos and d'Artagnan looking up. He waved to let them know that Aramis was awake before ducking back inside the room. He sat in the chair beside the bed and started on his own food.

A minute later, they heard footsteps outside the door before it opened and Athos and d'Artagnan entered, each with their own half-eaten bowls of stew.

"Feeling better?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis smiled as he chewed. "Much."

"How's the arm?" Athos asked him.

"It's fine," said Aramis. "Doesn't hurt too much."

Athos nodded. The injury was minor, despite needing stitches.

D'Artagnan sat on the side of the bed while Athos grabbed another chair, and they all ate in silence.

"Pierre is mortified over what happened," said Porthos. "He thinks it's his fault."

"Are you trying to say that it was _my_ fault?" asked Aramis, jokingly.

"He wishes to apologize," said Athos. "You have been warned."

Aramis chuckled. The new recruits practically worshipped the ground that Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan, and himself walked on. The poor boy was probably shaking in his boots at the thought of having wounded one of France's great heroes.

Once they were finished, Porthos piled the bowls on the nightstand.

Aramis closed his eyes with a sigh, annoyed at the dizziness that wouldn't go away.

"Still tired?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis quickly reopened his eyes, having momentarily forgotten that he was hiding his condition from them. "Feeling lazy," he lied.

"Well, Treville accepted Athos' explanation, so you might as well take advantage of it," said Porthos. He stood when they heard Treville shout that lunchtime was over; he was cutting it short so they could finish before the rain began. The sky was looking very dark, and they likely hadn't much time left.

D'Artagnan stood too. "Rest well," he said to Aramis.

"Get some more sleep," said Athos. "You never know when a new mission will come our way." He studied Aramis as he said it, still convinced that their friend was hiding something.

"All right," Aramis answered.

"See you later," said Porthos, taking the bowls as they left.

Aramis nodded, and was once more left alone. He yawned, and fell back to sleep before he had a chance to ask himself why he felt so tired.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sound of falling rain woke Aramis some time later. He lay there for a few minutes, trying to decide if he should get up. It was guaranteed that the regiment was no longer training, and since the room was currently not occupied by at least one of his other three friends, Treville must've given them all some other task. Mucking out the stables, probably.

Aramis yawned, before deciding that he should get up before he fell back to sleep. The last thing he needed was to sleep all day and lie awake all night. With another yawn, he sat up, frowning when he grew so lightheaded that he had to close his eyes. It took a moment to pass, and he blinked his eyes open with a frown, assessing himself to see if there were any other symptoms.

There weren't.

"This doesn't make sense," he said aloud. Carefully, he stood up, and the lightheadedness remained. With a sigh, Aramis slowly looked around the room for his jacket, before remembering that he'd taken it off outside before he'd fought the recruit. Taking careful steps towards the door, he unexpectedly spotted it draped over a chair; apparently, one of his friends must've brought it up for him while he'd slept. Picking it up, he was glad that he hadn't been wearing it when his arm had been sliced, and he carefully slid his wounded arm inside the sleeve with a wince. He gingerly buckled his belt over his jacket, glad that the wound was in his forearm; if it had been in his upper arm, he'd have much more limited movement.

Heading down the stairs to the courtyard wasn't too hard thanks to the rail, and when he reached the bottom, he stood there for a moment and slowly looked around for the others as raindrops bounced off his hat. The lightheadedness seemed to distort his perception.

"Aramis!"

He blinked, realizing that he was looking right at his friends.

Porthos headed over to him. "How you feelin'?"

"I'm all right," Aramis answered. He realized that he was still gripping the rail with his right hand, and let go.

"Someone wants to talk to you," said Porthos. He took Aramis' right arm and steered him in the correct direction.

Aramis had to hold back a gasp when his brain didn't immediately catch up with the movement and his senses reeled. He would've fallen flat on his face if not for Porthos' grip. He somehow managed to hide his problem, and was suddenly face-to-face with a nervous Pierre.

"Monsieur Aramis," said the boy, ducking his head as if Aramis were the king and he was just a lowly peasant. "I deeply apologize for your injury." His eyes strayed to Aramis' left arm.

Aramis felt sorry for him, he was obviously taking it hard. "It was not your fault, Pierre, I slipped in the mud," he said. "Consider it a lesson; no matter how seasoned a soldier you are, accidents happen and no one is infallible."

Pierre nodded and raised his head, relieved that Aramis wasn't angry with him.

Aramis smiled and clapped the boy on the shoulder before slowly turning to see where his friends were. Spotting them, he walked over to where they were indeed mucking the stables. Porthos was with them…Aramis hadn't even noticed him walk away.

"How is your arm?" Athos asked.

Aramis automatically put his right hand over the wound. "It's fine. Thank you for stitching it."

Athos nodded. "Just returning the favor."

Aramis smiled at that. He'd lost count a long time ago of how many stitches he'd put in his friends over the years.

"Get anymore sleep?" d'Artagnan asked, as he tossed a pile of straw a few feet away.

Aramis nodded, before realizing that his brain wouldn't like that motion. "Yes, I woke just before I came here."

They were all pleased to hear that.

"Aramis," they suddenly heard.

Aramis turned to see Treville walking over. He'd been slightly startled and turned a little too fast, and closed his eyes against the dizziness without thinking.

Treville frowned, but when he reached them, Aramis' eyes were open and he looked fine, so he thought he'd simply seen a shadow. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes," Aramis said, remembering not to nod this time. "The injury is minor."

Treville nodded. "Good. Are you rested? If I give you a mission tomorrow, will you be up to it?"

Aramis opened his mouth to say 'of course', but Athos spoke first.

"What is the mission?" he asked, assuming that all four of them would be going.

"Escorting a Spanish spy to Paris," Treville said. "Captain DeFond."

All four Musketeers were surprised to hear that. Captain DeFond had been captain of the Red Guard many years ago, before defecting to Spain. He'd been the obvious source of many French secrets that the Spanish had grown knowledge of.

"Yes," said Aramis. "I'll be ready."

Treville nodded. "He's being held prisoner in the wine cellar of an inn a few hours away from the Spanish border. Apparently, the innkeeper recognized and captured him. I need my best men for this; the journey back with DeFond might be dangerous. There are many who would see him dead, and might take matters into their own hands rather than wait for his execution."

Aramis could sense his friends' uneasiness in having him along with a stitched wound in his arm.

"You have the day off," Treville told Aramis. "If you require more rest, there is no shame in obtaining it." He remembered very well hearing Aramis up in the middle of the night from the terrifying nightmares of Savoy five years ago, and he'd never been able to let go of the guilt from his part in Aramis' suffering. If he was having those dreams again, then Treville wanted to ensure that Aramis had as much sleep as possible before embarking on a mission, especially since he knew that Aramis would say he was fine even if he wasn't.

"Thank you," Aramis said. "I'll be ready," he repeated.

Treville nodded and left.

"Are you sure about that?" Porthos asked.

Aramis looked at him and raised his left arm slightly. "This isn't my sword arm."

That was true.

Athos nodded. "Go back to your room and rest; we'll come see if you're awake before we go to the tavern."

"All right," Aramis agreed. What else could he say? Maybe more rest was what he needed to get rid of this annoying, unexplained lightheadedness.

Everyone was surprised when he agreed so easily, and watched as Aramis climbed the stairs to go back to his room. They all shared a look.

"Somethin's wrong here," said Porthos.

"I've suspected that since yesterday," said Athos.

"You think it's more than the nightmares?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos nodded. "Yes," he said. "I do."

TBC


	4. Dreaming

_Aramis was cold...colder than he'd ever been in his life. He sat motionless against a tree, knowing that the bodies of twenty friends lay not far from him. His mind felt as numb as his body, and he didn't even notice that he'd ceased to shiver. If he'd been capable of rational thought, he would've known that he would quickly be joining the dead Musketeers in their eternal slumber if he wasn't rescued soon. When someone suddenly knelt before him and grabbed his shoulder, he didn't even feel it._

"Aramis?"

With a start, Aramis realized that Porthos was standing beside his bed, frowning.

"You awake?" Porthos asked.

Startled, Aramis automatically put a hand on his chest as he tried to catch his breath. "I am _now_ ," he answered.

Porthos frowned. "Your eyes were open."

Aramis sat up, surprised to hear that. "I apologize, that must have been disturbing."

Porthos shrugged. "It wasn't when I thought you were awake, but it is now that you're telling me you weren't."

Aramis said nothing, glad to see that the lightheadedness felt better...at the moment, anyway.

"Well at least I can tell Athos that it's true," Porthos continued, watching as Aramis stood and headed to retrieve his jacket.

"What's true?"

"That you _are_ dreamin' again," Porthos said. "He thinks that somethin' else is wrong with you."

Aramis smiled as he slid his injured arm inside his jacket sleeve. " _Many_ people have thought that something is wrong with me, my friend...some of them were right, and some of them weren't."

Porthos laughed, and they both headed out of the room.

Athos and d'Artagnan looked up as their two friends came down the stairs. Both of them were laughing.

"He looks all right to me," d'Artagnan said.

Athos said nothing, though he had to admit that Aramis did look better than he had earlier.

Aramis smiled at them when he reached the bottom of the steps.

"Feeling better?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis almost nodded, but stopped himself in time. "Yes. It's nice to have a chance to catch up on lost sleep."

"How long have you been losing sleep?" Athos asked as they started to walk.

"Not long," Aramis answered. "You know how it is, once in a while."

Athos nodded; he sometimes had troubling dreams of his own.

Porthos flung his arm over Aramis' shoulders and jiggled him. "Well, forget about them for the evening; it's time to have supper and enjoy ourselves."

The sudden, unexpected grab made Aramis give a soft gasp when it made the scenery spin. "Warn me next time," he said with a laugh, to cover it up.

Porthos laughed too.

Suddenly, Athos knew. No, nightmares of Savoy _weren't_ the reason why Aramis was acting so strangely. When Aramis was plagued with violent dreams of Savoy—of the piles of dead friends, with their blood spilled all over the white snow—to the point where it affected his personality, he didn't laugh...sometimes not for days.

It wasn't like Aramis to be so secretive, and Athos again had to wonder just what was wrong.

Minutes later, they reached the tavern. Porthos ordered the wine before Athos had a chance to, and the first cup he poured was for Aramis. So, Porthos was starting to doubt too, and had the same idea that Athos had; get Aramis drunk to try to make him talk.

D'Artagnan suddenly caught his eye, and he knew that their young Gascon had figured it out too.

But their idea didn't work; Aramis was slow to drink. If they'd known what his problem really was, then they would've realized that the alcohol in the wine would react badly with their friend's already-lightheaded brain. As it was, the stew that they'd been served was delicious but thick, and Aramis had downed half of his cup to wash it down without thinking. After he put his cup back onto the table, the inside of the tavern seemed to spin in a circle, and he automatically grabbed the table to try to steady himself. He knew that everyone saw him, so he quickly pretended that he'd choked on his wine, to explain it.

Porthos, sitting beside him, quickly started slapping his back.

Naturally, being jostled by his unnaturally-strong friend only made the lightheadedness worse, but Aramis managed to regain control over himself. "I'm fine," he said to Porthos, with a fake gasp. "Thank you for the bruises."

D'Artagnan winced.

The unexpected quip made Porthos chuckle, and he clapped his friend on the shoulder.

Aramis smiled, and when he turned his head again, he was facing Athos, whose eyes were intensely boring into his. He said nothing, waiting to see how Aramis would react to it.

Aramis knew his friend well and knew exactly what he was trying to do, so he picked up the wine bottle that still had some in it and held it up. "More wine?"

Athos shook his head. "You can have the rest, you hardly drank any."

'The rest' was half the bottle. Oh, it was so obvious to Aramis what Athos was trying to do! "I had plenty," Aramis said, putting the bottle back down. _Why don't you just tell them?_ he asked himself. At first, he assumed that the lightheadedness would go away and not be worth mentioning, but then when it stayed, he kept quiet because he didn't want any attention. Now, even though his friends knew that something was wrong, Aramis had to stay silent or he would be declared unfit for duty and forced to remain behind while the others went on their mission without him…and he couldn't have that.

D'Artagnan looked from one to the other, before shaking his head, tired of the mental parrying going on. "Aramis," he said. "Is something else wrong? Because if you don't tell us, I think Athos might lose his mind."

That statement actually got a reaction from the usually impassive Athos, who turned his head to look at d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan shrugged.

Porthos laughed. "You can't lose what ya never 'ad," he slurred. In his quest to get Aramis drunk, it appeared that he'd had too much himself.

"I've been dreaming again," Aramis said. At least it _was_ true, if only a coincidence after the fact.

"It's true," said Porthos, sounding more sober. "I saw 'im lyin' there with his eyes wide open, still dreamin'."

D'Artagnan frowned, not having been there five years ago to see Aramis when he'd woken from the awful nightmares, eyes open but thinking himself still there in Savoy amongst the carnage.

Athos frowned too. If that was truly the case, then why were his senses telling him that something else was wrong?

Before anyone could say anything else, a man at the next table pinched the passing barmaid, and she jumped and dropped her tray—right on top of Aramis. The tray smacked him in the chest, and the drinks spilled all over him.

The tavern erupted in laughter.

The sudden accident took all four Musketeers by surprise, but none of them more than Aramis. He'd automatically turned his head away when the liquid had smacked him in the face, which naturally had increased the lightheadedness. Once he was sure that he wouldn't be sprayed again, he slowly turned his head back.

The barmaid was mortified. "I'm so sorry, monsieur!" she exclaimed, grabbing the tray and reaching for the cups.

Aramis didn't move, trying to blink the lightheadedness away.

Porthos had grabbed a cloth napkin and was wiping wine off his friend's Musketeer pauldron. "Good aim," he said to the barmaid, sarcastically, as d'Artagnan came around the table and grabbed a cup that had landed on the floor.

Athos held out another cloth napkin to Aramis, who blinked again before taking it to wipe his face. Once the cups were all off him, he stood—unsteadily. "Thank you for the free drinks," he said to the girl, with a slight grin.

The barmaid blushed; whether it was from embarrassment or because he was so devastatingly handsome, she wasn't even sure...it was probably both. "I'm sorry!" she repeated.

Aramis, ever the gentleman, smiled and tipped his hat to her despite the situation, and they made their way towards the door. He certainly couldn't sit there while covered with wine. "Well," he said. "That was interesting."

"That was _ridiculous_ ," said Porthos, still wiping off the Musketeer pauldron on his friend's shoulder.

Everyone was mostly quiet as they returned to the garrison and went up to their rooms.

Athos shared a look with Porthos, and the bigger man knew exactly what Athos was saying; _find out what's going on_. Porthos threw him a look back that said, _I planned to anyway_. They all followed Aramis to his door—which he noticed. "Sleep well," Athos said, his expression seeming to make it a command.

Aramis gave him a smile. "I will. You also." He went into his room and wasn't surprised at all when Porthos followed him inside.

As Athos and d'Artagnan walked away, they both hoped that their friend would be fit for this mission.

TBC


	5. The Mission

Porthos yawned as he stumbled over to a chair in Aramis' room. "I could go to sleep right 'ere," he said, after plopping down.

Aramis smiled as he removed his belt and jacket. "I wouldn't advise that," he said. He winced a little as he pulled his injured arm out of the sleeve, and draped the jacket on another chair.

Porthos dropped his head down onto the small table and began to snore.

Aramis couldn't help but chuckle. In a few minutes, he was ready for bed, and he went over and shook his friend's shoulder. "Porthos, wake up. Go to bed."

But Porthos continued to snore.

Aramis sighed and gave up. Porthos would eventually wake and then he could go to his own room. Aramis slowly turned towards his bed, grateful when the dizziness wasn't too bad. After sliding under the covers and getting comfortable, he let out a sigh and closed his eyes, not realizing that he was being watched.

Porthos continued to 'snore' until he figured that Aramis was asleep, before he got up and tiptoed over to the bed. His friend was indeed out like a light, and Porthos quietly retrieved his friend's extra blankets and placed them on the floor before lying down on them and going to sleep himself. If something _was_ wrong with Aramis, Porthos hoped that he'd be able to discover it by morning…

…but nothing happened.

Aramis made no sounds, and Porthos woke in the middle of the night, finding his friend still peacefully sleeping. If Aramis ever woke himself he never got out of bed, and once morning came, Porthos sat up and looked towards the bed, finding Aramis blearily rubbing his eyes.

When Aramis lowered his hands, his entire body physically jumped to see Porthos sitting on the floor staring at him.

Porthos smiled sheepishly. "Mornin'," he said, with a little wave.

"You were there all night?" Aramis said.

Porthos nodded. "Must've had too much to drink. When I woke up in the chair, I just came over here and went to sleep."

Aramis stopped himself from saying, 'but you were sober enough to find my extra blankets'. He knew exactly what Porthos had really done. "Well, off with you," he said, gesturing towards the door. "You can't report to Treville looking like that." Aramis just wanted his friend to leave before he got out of bed in case the dizziness struck again.

Porthos nodded and stood, taking Aramis' extra blankets and shaking them off before putting them away.

Aramis took advantage of Porthos' turned back to sit up on the side of the bed. He was still lightheaded and took a deep breath to sigh, but he managed to stop himself before Porthos heard him.

Porthos turned and saw his friend up. There were no excuses for him to remain any longer, so he said, "See ya downstairs."

"Be right down," Aramis told him.

Porthos left the room, inwardly annoyed that he hadn't found out what Aramis was hiding from them. Once he walked through his own door, he wasn't surprised to find Athos inside, waiting for him. "I didn't find out," he said.

Athos was surprised.

"He didn't give anythin' away," Porthos told him, as he neatened himself up. "Didn't have no nightmares, either...at least, none that I heard."

"Nightmares aren't the issue here," Athos said. "Whether he's having them or not."

"I agree with ya," Porthos told him. "I just can't figure out what it is. I wish I knew why he won't tell us."

Athos shook his head, unable to understand it himself.

A few minutes later, the two of them were sitting at a table downstairs eating breakfast with d'Artagnan, waiting for Aramis to come down. They told d'Artagnan of Porthos' failed ploy, and he was just as confused as they were.

"Here he comes," Porthos suddenly said.

All three of them looked up the stairs as Aramis slowly descended. Aramis was holding onto the rail with one hand, but that didn't strike anyone as being odd, since that's what a rail was for, after all.

"Good morning," Aramis said, brightly.

His normal behavior was a welcome sight and all three of them felt their worry alleviate somewhat. "Morning," they all repeated.

Aramis sat down at the table looking like he hadn't a care in the world.

Athos wasn't a man often confused, but at that moment, he was. He had to wonder if he was wrong and Aramis was fine after all.

Serge brought over some breakfast for Aramis, who started eating. His lightheadedness had lessened again, though it still hadn't completely left.

Everyone was mostly quiet, all three of them watching Aramis while trying not to seem obvious. Soon, they were finished, and after receiving their instructions from Treville, they rode out of the city.

As Aramis expected, he felt a little unsteady on his horse, and did his best to ignore it.

Suddenly, Porthos said, "What's the holdup?" And just like that, he kicked his horse into a gallop and took off.

D'Artagnan and Athos immediately did the same, but Aramis hesitated. Fast riding was definitely the last thing he needed...but he certainly couldn't stay back and let the others know that something was wrong. He quickly followed them, praying that he wouldn't fall off his horse.

The day was hot, and the speed in which they rode created a cooling wind. It felt wonderful, and they kept up their speed for a while before d'Artagnan, in the lead, eventually slowed down and the others did the same.

Everyone immediately noticed that Aramis was not with them.

"Aramis!" Porthos shouted.

The Musketeers quickly turned around and headed back. It seemed impossible for their friend to have simply disappeared, as the landscape was open, with forest on one side. The three men continued to call out, until suddenly, something bounced off Porthos' shoulder.

It was a pinecone.

Everyone turned, to see Aramis ride out from behind the trees. "Lose something?" he asked, with a smile.

"Yeah, _you_ ," said Porthos, relieved to find him. "What was _that_ all about?"

The truth was that Aramis had grown so dizzy from the wild ride that he'd had to veer off into the woods and lean his head against a tree until it abated enough. His horse had pawed the ground, wanting to run off after the others and not understanding why Aramis had stopped. Once he could see straight again, Aramis grabbed a pinecone off a nearby branch and simply waited for the others to come back. He knew that if it looked like he'd intentionally hid, they would never suspect what had really happened. "Am I not allowed to jest?" he asked.

D'Artagnan chuckled and grabbed a pinecone from the tree beside him, throwing it at Porthos.

"Hey!" Porthos exclaimed. "He's the one throwing things, not me!"

Everyone shared a laugh, and they continued on.

They rode for most of the day—not galloping, thankfully—stopping once the sun had set. Dismounting from his horse proved a challenge for Aramis, who'd remained lightheaded all day, especially after their wild ride that had nearly sent him tumbling off his horse. Once on the ground, Aramis found that his brain hadn't caught up with the fact that he was no longer riding; he felt odd, as if he was on a swaying ship.

The others were making camp and didn't notice, to Aramis' relief. He turned towards his horse and fussed with his saddlebags as he tried to blink his vision back into focus.

Soon, a fire was raging and Porthos was handing out food. Everyone was starved and mostly ate in silence. Afterwards, d'Artagnan wanted to spar and Athos and Porthos obliged.

Aramis sat against a tree and started cleaning his weapons, hoping that the others would leave him to it and not ask him to join. The stitched cut on his arm didn't appreciate the activity, but it was better than making himself dizzier from wielding his sword.

"Aramis!" d'Artagnan eventually called.

Thinking fast, Aramis called back, "Respect your weapons, and they will respect you!" He held up his hands, showing that he was cleaning his pistol.

Porthos lunged at d'Artagnan with his sword, and that was the end of that.

It quickly grew too dark to see, and Aramis finished cleaning his weapons. He stood to join the others, but a wave of dizziness unexpectedly washed over him, making his stumble back into the tree with a gasp.

Porthos saw, and stood from where he sat on a nearby log. "What 'appened?" he said, walking over.

Aramis quickly pushed himself off the tree, and with his head still spinning, he kicked an imaginary rock. "The foliage has seen fit to trip me," he said. He felt badly lying to his friend, but they were nearly a full day away from Paris now, and there was nothing he could do about his unexpectedly-persistent problem; therefore, there was no reason to let the others worry.

Porthos shook his head with a *tsk*. "Musketeers are supposed to be light on their feet."

Aramis was glad that it was dark, or Porthos would've been able to see how pale he knew he looked. "That is true...makes one wonder how _you_ ever became one," he said, as the dizziness lingered.

Porthos laughed and slung an arm around Aramis' shoulders, walking him over to the others.

Not long after, Aramis blinked up at the stars from where he lay on his bedroll. He could feel Athos' eyes on him more than once as he kept first watch, and he knew that his friend still wondered if something was wrong with him. With a sigh, Aramis fell asleep hoping that the night would bring an end to his problem.

TBC


	6. Collapse

The next morning, Aramis woke to the realization that no one had given him a watch during the night. Part of him wasn't surprised at all...the part of him that could think straight, that is. As he sat up, he found that he was still dizzy, and he barely caught himself before exclaiming his frustration aloud.

D'Artagnan was making coffee over their fire. "Morning, Aramis," he called.

"Good morning," Aramis quickly replied, so it wouldn't seem like something was wrong. He shaded his eyes with one hand as if blocking the sun, before furiously blinking to try to straighten out his vision. It didn't work; the landscape continued to dance around him. He shifted slightly and the dizziness worsened, making him sigh. "Why was I not woken to keep watch?" he asked.

Porthos, who was eating, piped up, "I was third, but wasn't tired enough to go back to sleep."

Athos, still sitting on his own bedroll, said nothing, and it was obvious to Aramis that the three of them had planned it. Now, if only Aramis could figure out a way to stand up without falling over...

Suddenly, the perfect solution presented itself. Porthos stood and picked up the log that he was sitting on and moved away from the fire before dropping it again. "Too hot over there," he said, with a grin. They all knew that he'd lifted it to playfully show off his strength.

"How heavy _was_ that?" d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos shrugged. "Not heavy to _me_!"

Aramis snorted, and even that made him dizzier. "It's obviously not as heavy as it looks," he said.

Porthos turned to look at him.

"I bet _I_ weigh more than that log," Aramis said. "You can't lift _me_ that easily."

"I've lifted you plenty of times!" Porthos said.

"Yes, but I was always unconscious when you did or too injured to pay attention," Aramis answered. "So how do I know how 'easy' it really was?"

"I'll show you right now!" Porthos said, with a grin, before walking towards him, kneeling, and lifting Aramis as if he weighed no more than a child. "Was that easy enough for you?" he asked, still grinning.

Aramis held tightly to his friend's shoulders. He'd succeeded in getting himself up, but the fast motion had his head spinning even worse and he had to fight against himself to keep his eyes open. "You'd better not drop me," he said, to explain his tight grip.

Porthos made a face. "I wouldn't do that, Aramis...there's no lake here to throw you in!" He laughed and swung his friend down to stand on his feet.

Aramis felt like his body was still moving even after it stopped; sheer willpower was the only thing that kept him standing. He was suddenly pulled forward when the still laughing Porthos slung an arm around his neck and started walking over to the log. He dropped onto it heavily and nearly flipped over the back.

"Do try _not_ to kill him," Athos said to Porthos, assuming that the bigger man had purposely dumped him roughly.

Porthos laughed and sat down, taking a cup of coffee from d'Artagnan and handing it to Aramis.

Aramis nearly dropped it.

"Watch out, it's hot," said Porthos, thinking that was the reason.

Aramis managed to keep hold of it and take a sip. It was a little strong, but it gave him something else to focus on.

After they ate, they were again on their way, and reached the inn a few hours later. The dizziness that Aramis was suffering continued to linger, which really didn't surprise him.

Athos and d'Artagnan went inside to collect DeFond while Aramis and Porthos stayed outside to make sure there was no ambush waiting for them. Porthos got down from his horse but Aramis stayed mounted, not wanting to deal with getting down and then back up it while still dizzy.

DeFond was tied up with enough rope to hold two people, and had to suffer the indignity of letting Athos and d'Artagnan get him up on his horse.

"How am I supposed to ride with my hands tied behind my back?!" DeFond exclaimed.

"Exactly like that," Athos said. "It will ensure that you won't try to escape; if you do, you'll fall."

DeFond glared at him.

They rode away with Athos holding the reins of DeFond's horse. Their prisoner was quiet, refusing to speak, which was fine with everyone else. The trouble began five or six hours later when without warning, six men came galloping out of the trees on horses.

DeFond didn't look surprised at all; it was obvious that they were his men, come to rescue him.

None of the Musketeers had time to shoot any of them, immediately being engaged in swordplay. Athos pushed DeFond off his horse to prevent any of the men from grabbing the reins and making off with him. DeFond landed hard and it was difficult for him to get up while tied so tightly, especially with so many horses practically dancing around him.

Porthos fought like the warrior he was, stabbing one of the men within seconds and jumping down from his horse, pulling another man off his steed to fight.

Aramis pulled his own sword and fought the man who attacked him, both of them staying atop their horses. Aramis had no idea how he managed to avoid the man's strikes, as dizzy as he was. The fight came to a sudden end when a gun fired and the man fell. Porthos was standing about ten feet away with his pistol, and he quickly turned to fight another man…the last man, it looked like.

The fight had lasted probably two minutes; with Porthos killing three—including Aramis' opponent—while Athos had done away with two and d'Artagnan one.

DeFond was nowhere.

"He ran off!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

"He'll be easy to find," said Athos. He gestured to the left where muddy footprints disappeared into the trees.

Everyone mounted and took off into the woods, each Musketeer still holding their swords, in case there were more men hiding behind the trees.

DeFond managed to hide pretty well, and it took longer than they expected to find him.

"Did you really think you would get away?" Porthos asked, sliding off his horse and reaching to grab him.

"You will all live to regret this!" DeFord snarled.

Porthos nodded. "We'll live, but we won't regret it." He practically threw DeFond back atop his horse, and they were again on their way.

Aramis' head was dizzier than it had been before the fight, and he had to practically hold his breath to avoid groaning in frustration. _When is this going to stop?!_ he asked himself, thoroughly sick of it. No voice provided him with an answer, and he kept hold of his sword as he rode, knowing that he might not have the ability to draw it if they were attacked again.

The next couple of hours passed slowly to everyone, but not as slowly as it did for Aramis. The dizziness had continued to grow until he'd stopped guiding his horse, unable to see straight enough. He'd fallen behind everyone, but they saw nothing amiss in that, thinking that he'd simply chosen to bring up the rear. Therefore, it was a shock to Porthos when he heard a sudden thump and turned around to see a riderless horse.

"Aramis!"

Everyone else turned to see Porthos jump down from his horse and run to a figure lying on the ground.

"What happened?" Athos exclaimed, as he jumped down too. "Watch him!" he yelled to d'Artagnan, pointing at DeFond.

D'Artagnan grabbed the reins of their enemy's horse and rode over to the others.

Porthos was kneeling on the ground, tapping his friend's face. "I don't know," he answered Athos. "Aramis!" he repeated.

He received no reply; Aramis was unconscious, his face very pale.

"Did you see him wounded?" Athos asked, searching Aramis for blood.

Porthos shook his head. "No…he and one of DeFond's men hardly fought for a minute before I shot him."

Athos found nothing, and started to feel Aramis' head for a bump while Porthos kept trying to wake him without success. "There is nothing here," Athos said.

Porthos turned worried eyes on him. "A man doesn't just fall unconscious for no reason!"

"There's a reason," said Athos. "We just don't know what it is." He looked up at d'Artagnan. "Get DeFond down and tie him to a tree, we're stopping."

"Tie me to a—!"

"Shut up!" d'Artagnan told DeFond, dismounting and pulling DeFond down.

Porthos kept tapping their fallen friend's face. "Aramis?"

He received no reply; Aramis didn't move or make a sound.

"Bring him over here," Athos said, walking to a shaded area.

Porthos obeyed, sliding his arms under his friend and lifting him the way he'd playfully done earlier, remembering Aramis' words that he was always unconscious when Porthos needed to carry him. _I didn't expect that to happen again so soon,_ he thought, with a pang of fear.

Athos laid out their friend's bedroll and Porthos gently laid him on it.

"Let's get his jacket off," said Athos. "I want to check his wound from yesterday."

Porthos obeyed, and watched a moment later as Athos unwound the bandage. The stitched cut looked fine, showing no sign of infection.

Athos sighed; part of him had hoped that was the reason for this, since they had no way of finding out otherwise until Aramis woke up and could talk to them.

Porthos nervously placed his fingers on the pulse on Aramis' neck. "His heart's beating fast."

Athos sighed at that as he studied their unconscious friend. Suddenly, he appeared to realize something.

"What?" Porthos asked.

"I'm wondering if this incident has something to do with his odd behavior of late," Athos said.

"You mean that he's been hiding some physical problem from us?" d'Artagnan said, reaching them after having finished tying DeFond to a tree.

Athos nodded. "I find it hard to believe that this is a coincidence."

D'Artagnan nodded his agreement as he knelt beside Athos.

"You're tellin' me that Aramis is sick and didn't tell us?" said Porthos. He reached over to feel their friend's forehead. "No fever." He wasn't sure if that was good or bad in this case; a fever would've at least provided them with a clue; watching Aramis lay there lifeless for seemingly no reason was terrifying.

The three of them stared at their friend, willing him to wake, but Aramis remained unconscious.

"What should we do?" d'Artagnan nervously asked.

"What _Aramis_ would do," said Athos, with a sigh. "Pray."

TBC


	7. Dazed

A few hours later, darkness was falling and Aramis was still unconscious. With the night came more anxiety for his three friends, who all sat around him, never leaving his side. Porthos kept trying to wake him up, occasionally tapping his face and calling his name. When it failed once again, Porthos stood with a sound of frustration and started to pace.

D'Artagnan sighed from where he sat. "What kind of illness would make him just pass out like that?" he said, staring at the motionless Aramis. "And keep him out all this time?"

"I don't know," Athos replied.

"He was tired," said Porthos. "Kept sleepin' yesterday."

D'Artagnan nodded. "Is it possible that Savoy nightmares _are_ the problem and he's been losing sleep longer than we know? Maybe it finally caught up with him."

Athos and Porthos shared a look.

D'Artagnan noticed. "What?"

"After Savoy happened, Aramis couldn't sleep," said Athos. "Whether he had nightmares or not. When he was finally well enough to get around, he used to pass out without warning sometimes. We assumed that it was mostly from the head injury, but there were times that he was so exhausted that he couldn't even tell us his name."

D'Artagnan shook his head. How awful.

"But he could barely function then," said Porthos. "Aramis hasn't acted or looked like that lately. He walks, he talks, he _laughs_ …he doesn't _look_ exhausted."

Athos nodded, reminded of when Aramis had laughed at Porthos the day before, making Athos realize that something was going on other than bad dreams. "There is something else; this is not the result of nightmares."

D'Artagnan said nothing; the two men in front of him had known Aramis for years, and if Athos was sure, then he believed him.

"Aren't you going to feed me?!" they suddenly heard.

Porthos looked towards DeFond, who was tied to a tree. "No!" he bellowed.

D'Artagnan couldn't help but smile.

DeFond didn't quite expect that answer, and sputtered for a moment.

They made the traitor wait a little longer but they eventually fed him, and then it came time to sleep, but none of them could, too worried over Aramis. Athos took the first watch and Porthos and d'Artagnan put their bedrolls on either side of their unconscious friend. Porthos lay on his side and grasped his friend's arm so if Aramis moved, he would know it. When it was Porthos' turn to take watch, the first thing he did was try to wake Aramis up…and to his shock, it worked; Aramis made a soft noise and moved his head.

"He's awake!" Porthos exclaimed.

Athos and d'Artagnan were instantly there, and watched as Porthos started tapping Aramis' face again. "Aramis…stay awake, you gotta tell us what's wrong with you!"

Aramis didn't react.

Athos reached over and grabbed their friend's arm. "Aramis," he said, in a commanding voice. "Open your eyes."

The moon was full that night and a fire was blazing, providing enough light to see his face. It took more prompting, but Aramis eventually opened his eyes halfway.

"Hey there," said Porthos, with a smile. "You had us worried! What happened?"

Aramis said nothing, blinking dazedly, and everyone's smiles of relief quickly faded.

"Aramis?" said Porthos.

Aramis still gave no reaction.

Athos reached over and put a hand on the side of their friend's face, turning his head to look into his eyes. "Aramis, can you hear me?"

Aramis didn't answer.

"He looks dazed," said d'Artagnan.

Suddenly, Aramis' eyes closed again, and Athos tapped his face this time. "Aramis?"

But it was too late; he was once again unconscious.

Porthos put a hand on Aramis' forehead again. "Still no fever."

"He looked exhausted just _then_ ," d'Artagnan said, wondering again if it was a lack of sleep that was causing this.

Athos sighed. "There's nothing else we can do until he wakes again…whenever that may be."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It wasn't until an hour after dawn that 'whenever' finally came. Aramis woke again with a groan, and all three of his friends surrounded him.

"Aramis," Porthos said. "Tell us what's wrong, and don't you pass out again!"

Aramis opened his eyes slightly and looked up to see his three friends staring down at him. His vision wouldn't stay still and it was disorienting. "What…happened?" he weakly asked.

"You lost consciousness and fell from your horse," Athos told him.

Everything was spinning around Aramis and he realized that he finally had a new symptom: a throbbing headache. He closed his eyes with another groan.

Athos frowned. "Are you in pain?"

Aramis tried to reopen his eyes, realizing that he couldn't keep his problem a secret any longer. "Dizzy," he said, feeling dazed. "Headache."

"Why?" D'Artagnan asked. "What happened?"

Aramis was finding it hard to concentrate. "Don't…don't know," he mumbled, closing his eyes again.

The others shared a look of shock and dread.

"What do you _mean_ you don't know?" Porthos asked.

"How long have you been feeling this way, Aramis?" Athos asked.

For a second, Aramis didn't know how to answer that, not sure how much time had passed. "Since two days…before…we left."

Everything finally made sense, but now was not the time to scold him for keeping the secret. "You have no idea what is causing it?" Athos asked.

"No," Aramis answered. "Thought it would…go away…headache is new."

"So you only had the dizziness until now?" Porthos asked.

Aramis stopped himself before nodding. "Yes."

Everyone seemed to sigh in unison, before d'Artagnan asked, "What can we do for you?"

Aramis had no answer to that, either. All he knew was that it was torture to stay awake while everything in sight was moving. He thanked God that his stomach felt fine.

"Can you eat?" Porthos suddenly asked.

"Maybe we should find out if he can sit up first," d'Artagnan said.

Sitting up was the last thing that Aramis wanted to do. "Not sitting," he said. He suddenly heard a canteen being opened.

"Can I pull you up a little to give you some water?" Porthos asked. "Your stomach all right?"

Aramis thought about it for another few seconds before answering, "Yes." He kept his eyes closed when he felt an arm slide under him and lift him up just high enough to drink. It wasn't enough to make the dizziness much worse, and he drank from the canteen after it touched his lips.

The others were relieved to see him handle that fine, and Porthos gently started to lie him back down.

"Wait," Aramis said.

Porthos obeyed, and Aramis opened his eyes.

"Wanna stay up like this?" Porthos asked.

Aramis knew that they couldn't remain where they were for long; Treville was waiting for them to return with DeFond. "Yes," he said, hoping that he could make it upright by degrees.

D'Artagnan grabbed one of their saddles and placed it behind Aramis, throwing a blanket over it to make it soft. Porthos reclined him against it, and they all stared at him.

Aramis kept his eyes closed as he got used to the new position before opening them. All three of his friends looked very worried. "I'm all right," he said.

Porthos huffed. "All right? You pretended to be 'all right' until you fell flat on your face!"

"I mean I'm not dying," Aramis told them.

"How can you be sure?" D'Artagnan asked. "When you don't even know what's wrong?"

"Poison?" Athos asked.

Aramis had considered that. "No," he said. "It grew worse after we left...we've all been eating the same food..." Suddenly, his eyes trailed off to the side, and the others got the impression that he was following his spinning vision. Their assumption seemed correct when Aramis winced and closed his eyes again.

Porthos looked at Athos. "He can't travel all the way to Paris like this."

"Back to the inn?" said d'Artagnan.

Athos sighed. What Aramis was suffering was obviously very serious, and there was no way that he was going to leave him behind...plus, the inn was only a little closer than Paris anyway, so if they were going to take him anywhere, it was better to take him home. "No," he said. "If we head back in that direction, we might encounter more of DeFond's men, and Aramis wouldn't stand a chance against them. We'll stay here for a while to see if he improves, but we must get him back to Paris."

The others nodded.

"Did you forget about me, _Mouse_ keteers?" DeFond's voice suddenly shouted. "I'm hungry!"

Porthos sighed. "Now we're mice. Can't we just kill him ourselves? Then we won't have to hurry to get back."

Athos knew that he wasn't serious, so he didn't bother to answer him. He reached over and touched Aramis' arm. "Are you feeling any better?"

Aramis opened his eyes halfway and blinked for a few seconds. He was very pale. "Not yet."

The fact that Aramis told the truth rather than even saying 'a little' showed them all how serious this was. "Just rest," Athos said, glad at least that by saying 'yet', Aramis was being optimistic.

Aramis nodded ever so slightly and closed his eyes again.

"Hey!" they suddenly heard. "Food was meant to be eaten!"

Porthos stood with a growl. "I'm gonna kill him myself!"

Athos stood too and grabbed his arm.

Porthos sighed. "Aramis needs a doctor and we're stuck carting a traitor's rear-end to Paris!"

"We cannot kill him, Porthos, no matter how much we wish to," Athos told him.

"Actually," said d'Artagnan, from where he still sat watching Aramis. "Maybe we can..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

DeFond looked up as two of the Musketeers walked over to him. One of them drew his sword as they neared, and he frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Killin' you," said Porthos, raising his sword.

"What!" DeFond exclaimed. "You can't do that!"

Porthos stopped, sword still raised. "Why not?"

"I've had no trial!" DeFond exclaimed.

Porthos shot Athos an amused glance. "He thinks he'd gettin' a trial," he chuckled.

DeFond's eyes opened wider.

"We are growing tired of you," Athos said. His dry monotone was more scary than if he had yelled it.

"Right," said Porthos. "And since you're gonna die anyway..." He raised the sword again.

To their surprise, DeFond fainted.

Porthos and Athos stared.

"That was unexpected," said Athos.

Porthos laughed. "What do you expect from a former Red Guard, eh? Think it worked? You think we scared him enough into shutting up?"

Athos nodded and gestured to the unconscious man. "I would say so."

With that, they turned and went back to Aramis and d'Artagnan.

TBC


	8. Getting Worse

Aramis had strange dreams. He wasn't sure what they were about, but he woke confused all the same. He was then startled to feel arms suddenly slide themselves underneath him and lift him up into the air; the motion serving to make him dizzier than he already was. "What?" he exclaimed, flailing.

Someone grabbed his arms and the motion stopped.

"Peace, Aramis," said Athos' voice. "Peace."

Aramis opened his eyes to find his friend looking at him calmly.

"We wanted to move you out of the sun," Athos told him. "We tried to wake you, but you would not stir."

"Until _now_ ," came Porthos' voice. "Just _had_ to make things harder for us, eh?"

Aramis looked up into his closest friend's face. Porthos was smiling, but still looked very worried. "Apologies," Aramis mumbled, blinking to try to clear his still-spinning vision.

"None of that, now," Porthos said, starting to walk again to a shaded area where d'Artagnan was placing Aramis' bedroll and saddle. "Do you think you can sit up any higher?"

Aramis thought for a minute. "Perhaps," he said, wondering how much time had passed and knowing that they needed to be on their way as soon as possible.

Everyone was glad to hear that, and Porthos lowered him down to the ground. "This all right?" he asked.

Aramis' brain wasn't liking it very much—at all, in fact—but he hoped that he would grow accustomed to the position. "Fine," he said, closing his eyes. He suddenly realized that his heart was beating too fast, and he took a deep breath in an attempt to calm it.

Everyone gave him a moment to adjust, before d'Artagnan asked, "Do you feel any better?"

Aramis didn't, and hesitated, which made the answer obvious.

"Any new symptoms?" Athos asked.

"No," Aramis said. "Just the dizziness and headache."

"You're weak and tired," Porthos pointed out. "And pale."

Aramis closed his eyes. "That too."

Everyone looked at each other; it was obvious that their ailing friend wasn't thinking clearly.

"We have to get him _home_ ," d'Artagnan urgently said.

Athos agreed. "We've waited long enough. Let's go."

D'Artagnan stood and quickly started gathering their things. In less than ten minutes, the campsite was packed up, DeFond was mounted—and _much_ more docile now after the way that Porthos had scared him earlier—and the only thing left was getting Aramis up.

Porthos knelt beside him and touched his arm. "Aramis? We're leavin'."

Aramis didn't react.

"Aramis?"

Still nothing.

Athos neared them with Porthos' horse, and Porthos quickly picked Aramis up and placed him in Athos' arms, before quickly mounting and reaching down to pull his friend up to sit in front of him.

Not once did Aramis stir, and the fact did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Athos quickly mounted his own horse, and they began their ride back towards Paris.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was over an hour later when Porthos felt Aramis move slightly. He quickly stopped his horse and said to the others, "I think he's waking up."

Everyone else stopped and rode closer to them, with Athos pulling the reins of DeFond's horse.

Porthos had one arm around his friend to anchor him on the horse, and he leaned Aramis back in his other arm so he could tap his face. "Aramis," he said. "Wake up. Come on, wake up."

Aramis felt like he was floating. He could hear his friend's voice, but it sounded muffled. It took a few seconds before he even felt the fingers tapping him, and he opened his eyes slightly.

Porthos smiled. "That's right, lemme see those eyes of yours that all the women seem to love so much."

The comment would've usually made Aramis smile, but he didn't, his eyes not focusing on his friend.

Porthos frowned and put his hand on the side of Aramis' face. "Hey, look at me," he said. He jiggled Aramis a little, hoping it would make him more aware.

It seemed to work and Aramis finally looked at him, the glazed look in his eyes clearing somewhat. "Porthos?" His voice was soft and weak.

Porthos smiled slightly, though it didn't hide his intense worry. "That's right. You feelin' any better?" he asked, which he knew was a ridiculous question.

Aramis couldn't keep his eyes focused on him; everything was too distorted. He closed them again with a whispered, "No."

That one word told them more than _anything_ ; Aramis always insisted that he was fine, even when he had a hole in himself with half of his blood on the ground.

Porthos moved his hand to Aramis' forehead and found that it was warm. "He's gettin' worse," he told the others. "We have to hurry!"

Without a word, they started off again, and Aramis instantly winced at what the motion of the horse was doing to him.

Porthos saw. "Sorry, Aramis, we have to get you home," he said, feeling terrible at adding to his friend's misery. "Just hang on, all right?"

Aramis said nothing, but his hand closed around Porthos' arm holding the reins. Whether he did it to anchor himself or communicate that he'd heard him, Porthos wasn't sure.

Aramis passed out again not long after, and part of Porthos was glad. He kicked his horse into a faster gallop, hoping to get as far as they could before he woke again.

A couple of hours later, they had to stop to give the horses a rest. Athos tossed the reins of DeFond's horse to d'Artagnan and dismounted, reaching up to take Aramis so Porthos could get down. Once he did, Porthos quickly took Aramis back so Athos wouldn't have to hold him for long...while not overly heavy by any means, Aramis was still a dead weight, and Porthos knew that he was the strongest of the four.

Athos laid out Aramis' bedroll and watched as Porthos laid him on it. He knelt and placed a hand on their unconscious friend's forehead, feeling the same heat that Porthos had found. The fever wasn't high, but it was a fever all the same.

D'Artagnan got DeFond down and tied him to a tree, before heading over and kneeling beside his friends. "Any of you ever seen an illness like this before?" he asked.

"Never," said Porthos, not taking his eyes off his unconscious friend.

Athos shook his head. "No."

D'Artagnan didn't want to ask his next question. "Do you think...maybe...it could be plague?"

Athos had considered it. "Let's get his jacket off."

D'Artagnan knew what Athos was looking for: a rash. Thankfully, they didn't find any odd discoloration on his chest or arms, and Athos checked Aramis' stitched cut, finding it still free of infection.

"This doesn't make sense," Porthos said, as they got the jacket back on Aramis. "What in the _world_ does he have?" _And is it contagious,_ he wondered.

The other two wondered the same thing. Before anyone could say anything else, a soft groan met their ears.

"Aramis?" said Athos.

Aramis squeezed his eyes shut tighter and groaned again.

"Hey, look at us," said Porthos.

But Aramis didn't, wincing as his face got even paler than it already was.

For the first time since Aramis had collapsed, d'Artagnan wondered if he was going to die. A stab of fear pierced him, and he reached out to squeeze their friend's arm. "Aramis, open your eyes, _please,_ " he said.

Everyone stared, but Aramis lay there motionless, eyes squeezed shut, breathing too fast.

Porthos couldn't handle the sight of his best friend suffering from something that they couldn't even identify, and he reached down and grabbed Aramis' arms, squeezing them gently. "Aramis, if you don't open those eyes and look at me, I'm gonna kill somethin'!"

He received no reaction.

"Aramis!" Porthos said, giving him a light shake.

Aramis obeyed that time, opening them slightly. He didn't look at anyone in particular, but his eyes were open.

Porthos suddenly felt the muscles in his friend's arms start to tremble, and he reached down and pulled Aramis up into his arms, clutching him tightly as if he could stop the shaking. He shot a helpless look at Athos. "It has to be poison!" he said.

"But Aramis is right; we've eaten the same food, drank the same water…" said d'Artagnan.

Athos sighed. "Whatever it is, it's killing him. We must get him back to Paris without further delay."

D'Artagnan jumped up to make sure that all the horses were drinking from the stream. The sooner their mounts were refreshed, the sooner they'd be back on their way.

Porthos didn't move from his position, remaining where he sat on the ground holding his friend while Aramis' body continued to lightly shake. "You'd better not die on me, Aramis," he said. "You'd _better_ not. Hear me? You better _not_."

Aramis gave no answer, eyes closed. He felt himself being held and could hear a voice, but he was unable to understand the words, as if they were a foreign language. Most of his comprehension was gone, as whatever it was that raged within his body continued to do its damage.

Athos refilled their canteens and brought one over to Porthos, handing it to him and watching as he tried to feed some to their ailing friend. To their relief, Aramis still retained that ability at least, and obediently drank. His eyes never opened.

"That's good, at least," Porthos said, once Athos took the canteen back. He adjusted his position to hold Aramis tighter as small trembles continued to shake his muscles.

Athos nodded, saying nothing…perhaps not _able_ to speak, at the sight of Porthos cradling their possibly dying friend.

D'Artagnan hurried over. "The horses are ready."

"About time," Porthos mumbled.

Within the space of two minutes, everyone was once again mounted and on their way. They didn't make anymore stops, and when they finally rode into Paris, each one of them—except for DeFond, naturally—felt nearly overcome with relief.

"We're home, Aramis," said Porthos, hoping that his friend could hear him. "We're home, and you're gonna be fine."

Aramis didn't react, having lost consciousness again.

Treville saw them as they approached the garrison, and he hurried over when he saw Aramis on Porthos' horse. "What happened?" he exclaimed.

Athos was in the process of dismounting, and rather than answer, he simply said, "He needs a doctor immediately."

A chill shot down Treville's spine. Athos was always so unflappable; for those to be his first words meant that Aramis' condition had to be grave. Turning, he grabbed the first Musketeer he saw and told him to hurry for a doctor, before grabbing three others to take charge of DeFond.

A moment later, Porthos was carrying Aramis upstairs to his room. They quickly removed his uniform, explaining everything to Treville as they put him to bed.

"I agree, it _does_ sound like poison," said Treville.

"But like Aramis told us, he ate and drank the same things that we did," said Porthos, as he placed a wet towel on their friend's heated forehead. "And if he was poisoned before we left, it wouldn't take three days for him to get to this state." He sighed. "It's probably some kind of disease."

Treville echoed the sigh. "Try not to think the worst; wait until the doctor arrives and can examine him. Have hope; Aramis is strong."

Neither Athos, Porthos, or d'Artagnan said anything, inwardly trying to take Treville's advice…but failing.

TBC


	9. The Reveal

The usual doctor that King Louis employed to treat his Musketeers was out on a house call, so a different doctor was brought back to the garrison; a Dr. Lemay. He'd told the Musketeer who had fetched him that he wasn't skilled in gunshot wounds and the like, but the Musketeer didn't know what exactly had befallen Aramis, so Lemay grabbed everything that he might need and had quickly followed. Once at the garrison, he was directed to Aramis' room and he quickly opened the door and went inside.

The men surrounding the bed turned to look at him.

"I am Dr. Lemay," he replied, slightly intimidated. "Here to examine the wounded man."

The other Musketeers glanced at each other, leery of having a doctor that they didn't know treat their friend, but Treville hurried over to him and shook his hand, guiding him towards the bed. "I'm Captain Treville. Aramis is not wounded...it is either poison, or a very strange illness."

At the words 'strange illness', Lemay immediately thought of plague. "Does he have a rash?" he asked, rolling up his sleeves as he stared down at Aramis.

Treville answered, "No."

Lemay was relieved. "Tell me everything."

The next few minutes were spent examining the unconscious Musketeer as he listened to what he was told. When he finished, he looked at the others and detailed what he found. "Fever—thankfully not high, rapid heartbeat, extreme paleness, unconsciousness...along with your account of the dizziness, headache, weakness, and the shaking, it could be a few different serious illnesses, though with the absence of a rash, that makes it harder to diagnose." He sighed. "The notion of poison does indeed seem very possible."

"If we don't know who poisoned him, how are we going to find out what they used?" d'Artagnan asked.

"And how?" said Porthos. "How did they do it without gettin' us too?"

"Doctor," said Athos. "Do you know of any poisons that take three days to get a victim to this state?"

Dr. Lemay shook his head. "No, I'm sorry." He suddenly looked around the room. "Perhaps it wasn't something that he ingested…it may have been absorbed into his bloodstream by something that he touched."

"That makes sense," said Treville. "It would explain why no one else was affected."

Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan started looking around the room at Aramis' possessions, trying to figure out what could have poison on it. They came up empty.

"It may have been something that he took with him on your mission," Lemay said. "Which would have brought him to this state, from the constant exposure."

All three of the other musketeers looked at each other.

"His weapons," said d'Artagnan.

"His _sword,"_ Athos clarified.

Porthos suddenly remembered Aramis' odd stumble after he'd been polishing his sword the previous night. He strode over to the table, putting on his gloves as he went.

"Who had the task of cleaning the weapons in the armory four nights ago?" Athos asked Treville.

"I've had the new recruits doing it," Treville said. "Antoine had the task this week."

Porthos picked up Aramis' weapons and gave the handle of the sword a sniff. He smelled the metal, but also something foreign. Without a word, he left the room and headed down the hall and outside, going down the stairs and towards the armory.

Antoine was inside, fiddling with a pistol, and Porthos forced himself to give him a pleasant grin. "Antoine," he said.

Antoine looked up, seeming nervous. "Porthos," he said.

"Can you give these a good cleaning?" Porthos said, handing the weapons over. "They belong to Aramis…I want them perfect for him for when he recovers."

Antoine looked away. "Of course. What ails him?"

Porthos shook his head. "We're not sure…probably just exhaustion. He'll be fine; he's awake and talking. I'm about to bring him some food," he lied.

Antoine smiled at that, though he looked slightly confused. "That's good to hear. I'll have them ready immediately."

Porthos smiled. "Thanks." With that, he turned around and left. Once he was outside, he turned and headed for a window, to see what Antoine would do. He wasn't surprised to find Athos and d'Artagnan already there.

Antoine reached into a pocket and took out a vial, pouring its contents into a bowl and sitting Aramis' sword so that the hilt rested in the liquid. He then picked up the pistol and started to look it over.

"That's it!" d'Artagnan said to the others, excitedly.

Athos drew his own sword and marched over to the door, walking inside while pointing it at Antoine.

Antoine looked up and dropped the pistol.

"What was in that vial?" Athos demanded.

Antoine's demeanor changed from a frightened recruit to a hardened man. "You'll never know."

"Who put you up to this?" Porthos asked. "Tell us and we might let you live."

"I can't do that," said Antoine.

Porthos growled and stalked over to him, grabbing him and punching him in the face.

Antoine fell back and his hand whacked Aramis' sword, which fell off the table and took the bowl of poison with it.

Porthos knelt and grabbed Antoine, punching him again before grabbing his pistol and pointing it in his face.

"It was the Cardinal!" said Antoine, bleeding from his lip.

"The Cardinal?!" said d'Artagnan. "Why would he want to kill Aramis?"

Athos had a pretty good idea.

Porthos turned his head to look at them, and Antoine saw that Aramis' pistol had fallen nearby. He reached out for it, but before he could shoot Porthos, someone else's gun went off, and Antoine was dead.

Porthos stood up, giving a nod of thanks to Athos, who replaced his pistol on his belt.

Athos walked over to the sword lying on the floor and picked it up by the blade, giving the soaked hilt a sniff. He couldn't identify the scent. He looked at d'Artagnan and Porthos. "Hide the body for now." With that, he hurried back upstairs to Aramis' room.

Treville heard him coming and opened the door. "What happened?"

"It was Antoine," Athos told him. "We witnessed him immerse the hilt of Aramis' sword in an unknown liquid. When confronted, he admitted that it was poison. He is dead."

Treville had more questions, but he recognized that Athos didn't want to say anything more in front of Lemay.

The doctor came over and took the sword from Athos, sniffing the hilt. "Strange scent," he said.

Athos nodded.

"There is no way for me to figure out what it is," Lemay said. "I am sorry."

"Do you think Aramis will live?" Treville asked.

Lemay sighed. "He does not appear to be dying. His heartbeat is fast but his breathing is steady and unhindered. As long as the fever does not climb dangerously high, I believe that he has a good chance."

Athos nodded with relief at that, even though the doctor wasn't completely sure. He took the sword back, placing it in a corner of the room where it would not be touched.

Porthos and d'Artagnan came back a few minutes later. "How is he?" Porthos asked.

"No change as of yet," said Lemay. "Nothing can be done but to keep him comfortable until he recovers."

The phrase 'until he recovers' was the best thing Porthos had ever heard.

"If he worsens, be sure to notify me," Lemay told them.

"Thank you, doctor," said Treville, shaking his hand and watching as he left.

Porthos headed over to the bed and looked down at Aramis, who lay immobile with a wet towel across his forehead.

"What did you leave out?" Treville asked Athos.

"Antoine told us that the Cardinal had him poison Aramis," Athos said.

Treville's eyebrows shot up. "The Cardinal?! Why?"

Athos sighed. "Let's just say that his mistress, Adele Bessette, was…enamored of Aramis."

Treville blinked. "Aramis was fooling around with the Cardinal's mistress?!"

"Can't put it that way," said Porthos. "The Cardinal was fooling around with Aramis' woman. She and Aramis had a relationship before the Cardinal even saw her, and they simply continued it behind his back."

"But…" Treville sputtered, before shaking his head. He suddenly realized something. "Why do you speak in past tense? What happened?"

"She went away to the Cardinal's country estate, months ago," said Porthos. "She apparently chose him over Aramis."

"We can only assume that he found out about Aramis and Adele," said Athos. "And this is his revenge."

Treville sighed. "So how are we supposed to stop the Cardinal from trying to kill him again?"

Athos sighed. " _That_ is the question."

TBC


	10. Wake Up

Aramis remained unconscious through most of the night. His fever rose slightly while Athos was on 'watch', and Aramis began to mumble and move restlessly, waking the others, who crowded around the bed.

Aramis was breathing faster and moving his head a little. "No," he mumbled. "No."

"How high is his fever?" asked Treville. "Do we need to fetch Lemay?"

"It isn't much higher," Athos answered, as he patted the wet cloth over Aramis' face.

Porthos watched worriedly. "Looks like a bad dream."

Athos nodded, laying the cloth over Aramis' forehead and holding it there.

Aramis continued to breathe too fast. "No," he said again.

Athos reached out and took his shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. "You're dreaming, Aramis," he said, doubting that his friend could hear him. "It's just a dream."

Aramis suddenly shifted one arm. "No," he mumbled again. "Marsac…wait."

Everyone's hearts sunk at those words. Aramis was dreaming of Savoy…of the moment when Marsac had abandoned him wounded in the frozen forest.

Desperate to stop his best friend's suffering, Porthos started shaking Aramis' shoulder. "Wake up," he said, loudly. "Aramis, wake up!"

To everyone's surprise, Aramis' eyes opened and he stared up at Porthos.

"Hey," Porthos said, smiling.

Aramis simply blinked at him.

"You all right?" asked Porthos.

"Where…is he?" Aramis quietly asked back.

"Who?" said Athos, hoping that they wouldn't get the answer that he expected to get.

"Marsac," said Aramis.

No one said anything.

"He left…" Aramis said, eyes tiredly closing. "Left me here."

Porthos closed his own eyes and had to force himself not to growl.

"You are not in Savoy, Aramis," said Treville, noticing the 'here'. He reached out to squeeze his arm. "You're safe."

Aramis' eyes stayed closed. "Home?" he asked.

"That's right, Aramis, you're safe at home in the garrison," Treville told him.

Aramis' breathing slowed down, and he appeared to fall back to sleep.

D'Artagnan was speechless; now he knew what the others meant when they said that Aramis would wake from dreams of Savoy and think that he was still there. He couldn't stop the distressed sigh that passed his lips.

Porthos looked at him. "And that was nothin'," he said.

D'Artagnan shook his head, unable to fathom what Aramis had gone through during that awful mission.

Treville had a hard time looking at anyone, knowing that they knew the truth of his involvement in the Savoy massacre. He stared at Aramis, who looked so young and innocent as he slept…who had _been_ so young and innocent five years ago…

Abruptly, he stood and walked away from the bed.

Everyone had a good idea of what he was thinking, and said nothing as they watched their sick friend sleep…each of them desperately hoping that no more frightful dreams would plague Aramis that night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next morning, Dr. Lemay came to check on Aramis, glad to find him still alive.

"His fever rose slightly in the night and he grew restless from a bad dream," Athos told him. "He woke and spoke to us, but he appeared to still be dreaming."

Lemay nodded as he placed his hand against Aramis' forehead and cheeks. "Not surprising. The fever still is not too high, thankfully. If he wakes and would like to eat, give him something light. Try to make him drink as much water as he can, to try to flush the poison from his system." He checked his patient's pulse, finding it still fast. "This toxin obviously does not wear off quickly."

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

D'Artagnan went over and opened it, surprised at who he found.

Constance Bonacieux stood there looking concerned. She gave d'Artagnan a little smile as she peered around him. "I heard about Aramis…how is he?"

D'Artagnan sighed. "He is very ill, but will recover."

Constance walked further into the room and stood near the bed, looking down at the handsome Musketeer as he lay unconscious with a wet cloth on his forehead. Always a mother-hen, she studied Aramis' pale features, reaching down to brush away the curled lock of hair that had fallen over the cloth. She had a special place in her heart for all three of d'Artagnan's friends, especially Aramis, who was always so full of life. To see him reduced to this state was frightening. "I can't stay, my husband thinks that I've just gone to market. Let me know if there's anything I can do," she said.

Everyone nodded at her, and she turned and headed back towards the door.

As she reached it, d'Artagnan grabbed her hand, his eyes searching hers as he let all of his love for her show.

Constance gave him a sad smile and squeezed his hand, before leaving.

D'Artagnan sighed, remembering their last conversation, how she needed to stay with her husband. This wasn't the time, however, and he closed the door and went back over to the bed.

Lemay was packing up his supplies. "As I said last night, if he worsens, send for me. I will return to check on him later."

"Thanks," Porthos said. As soon as Lemay was away from the bed, Porthos reached for the cloth on Aramis' forehead and rewet it in the basin on the nightstand before replacing it.

Treville walked in a moment later. "How is he?"

"The same," Porthos told him.

Treville sighed, before saying, "I informed the King that you four will be occupied for the next few days because Aramis is ill."

"Was the Cardinal there?" asked Athos.

Treville nodded. "Yes, and he faked his concern rather well. 'Is it serious?' he asked. I said 'yes' and he replied with, 'I do hope he recovers.' But then the Queen tripped over the hem of her dress and we were too occupied with making sure that she was all right to continue the conversation."

Athos knew that the Queen hadn't really tripped; she'd stumbled, out of fear for Aramis. Athos was the only person who knew that the Queen was carrying Aramis' child. "And was she?"

Treville nodded. "She didn't fall, thankfully."

Athos was relieved to hear that.

"I didn't mention that we know that Aramis was poisoned and that Antoine is dead," Treville continued. "The longer it takes Richelieu to find that out, the better."

Athos didn't get to reply to that before they heard a sudden, soft groan. Everyone went closer to the bed, watching as Aramis moved his head slightly.

"That's it, Aramis," said Porthos, as he patted the wet cloth over their friend's face. "Wake up, you've been out long enough."

Aramis was breathing faster and his eyebrows furrowed into a frown. He didn't react to Porthos' voice.

"I hope it's not another bad dream," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis made another soft sound and turned his head away from them.

Porthos reached out and put his hand on the side of their friend's face, turning his head back. "Aramis?" he said. "Can you hear us?"

Ever so slowly, Aramis opened his eyes. He blinked, not really looking at any of them.

"Hey, are you in there?" Porthos asked.

Aramis looked at him then, and opened his mouth to speak, before licking dry lips instead.

Treville grabbed the pitcher that stood on the nightstand and poured some water into a cup as Porthos pulled Aramis up a little so he could drink.

Aramis made a little sound of distress from the motion, and Porthos frowned, noticing that Aramis had closed his eyes and was breathing harshly. "Take it easy, take it easy," he told his friend as he took the cup from Treville. "Here, Aramis." He placed the cup at his friend's lips and slowly fed it to him.

Everyone was relieved when Aramis drank it. After he finished, Porthos gently laid him back down and they all watched him.

Aramis' eyes were still closed, his face very pale. He didn't move or say anything, and it was frightening to see the lively Musketeer reduced to an immobile, silent state.

Porthos grabbed the cloth on his forehead and rewet it before patting it over Aramis' face, while Treville reached over and put a hand on their friend's arm. "Aramis? Can you stay awake?" he asked.

It took a few seconds for Aramis to reply. "No." His voice was quiet and weak.

That wasn't the answer that they were hoping for. "That's all right," Treville said, patting his arm. "Just rest."

It didn't take long for Aramis' rough breathing to relax into sleep, and everyone looked at each other with mixed feelings: they were happy that he'd woken, but distressed at his extremely weak condition. It seemed apparent that Aramis would not have a quick recovery from the poison's effects on his body…

TBC


	11. Awake

Aramis slept for hours, past lunchtime and well into the afternoon. His fever didn't rise, but neither did it break. None of his friends left the room for any reason, and there was a lot of frustrated pacing from Porthos.

"Sit down," Athos eventually said.

Porthos stopped and looked at him. "I thought Aramis would be recovering by now, since he hasn't been exposed to more of the poison."

D'Artagnan sighed from where he sat, taking his turn patting the wet cloth over Aramis' face and forehead. He'd hoped the same thing, and was growing discouraged the longer Aramis lay there motionless and fevered.

"Pacing isn't going to help him," Athos replied.

"Well it's helpin' _me_ ," Porthos said back.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything else, a soft moan filled the air, making Porthos and Athos quickly stride over to the bed.

D'Artagnan left the wet cloth on Aramis' forehead as he gently tapped their sick friend's face. "Aramis," he said, trying to help him reach full consciousness. "Open your eyes."

Porthos reached out to shake his arm. "Come on, Aramis, we're not taking 'no' for an answer this time."

At that, Aramis' eyes scrunched and he moved his head a little, eventually cracking his eyes open and looking up at his friends.

Porthos sighed with relief and smiled. "Well it's about time," he said.

Aramis blinked at him, his eyes opening a little more. "What happened?" he weakly asked.

They were surprised at the question. "You were poisoned after all," Porthos answered.

Aramis frowned as he tried to remember, and they waited patiently for his mind to catch up. "How?" he finally asked.

"The hilt of your sword was coated in it," Athos told him.

Aramis raised his eyebrows at that. "Who…" He stopped and swallowed; his mouth was too dry. "Who did it? Why?"

"Antoine, the new recruit," Athos told him, grabbing the pitcher on the nightstand and pouring water into a cup. "He is being questioned."

D'Artagnan looked at Athos with surprise at the lie, but Porthos knew exactly why Athos hadn't mentioned that the Cardinal had paid Antoine to do it: to prevent the truth from hampering Aramis' recovery. If Aramis knew that the Cardinal was responsible, he'd never be able to rest…which would be perfectly understandable. As it was, no one knew what on earth they were going to do about the situation; if Richelieu wanted Aramis dead, then he was going to keep trying until he succeeded.

Porthos took the cup and helped Aramis drink the water. He was so thirsty that he asked for more, and they gladly obliged. Afterwards, Aramis lay there quietly, medically assessing himself.

"How do you feel?" Porthos asked him. "Any better?"

Aramis nodded slightly. "Not as dizzy. Head hurts less."

Everyone was relieved to hear that. D'Artagnan, still sitting on the bed, rewet the cloth on Aramis' forehead. "You have no idea how badly you frightened us."

Aramis closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," said Porthos.

"Except for deceiving us in the first place," Athos said. "Since two days before we left."

"I thought it would go away," Aramis told them.

"You should have said something," Athos pressed.

"I didn't know I'd been poisoned!" Aramis said, reopening his eyes. He suddenly winced and dragged a hand up to cover them.

"Hey now," Porthos said, shooting a glare at Athos. "This can wait until he's healthy again."

Athos walked over to the other side of the bed and sat on it, grasping their friend's shoulder. "Forgive me. My anger is not towards _you,_ but rather what could have happened."

"I know," Aramis said, eyes still closed.

"If we'd been ambushed again, you would not have survived," said Athos. "It was a miracle you survived the _first_ time."

Aramis opened his eyes and looked at Porthos, remembering that his friend had shot his attacker. "I know," he repeated.

"I think Athos is trying to say 'don't ever let this happen again'," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis smiled slightly. "It won't, you have my word."

D'Artagnan removed the wet cloth to feel his forehead.

"Lower?" Porthos asked him.

"Not yet," d'Artagnan answered.

"Is it high?" Aramis asked.

Athos, still sitting on the other side of the bed, put his own hand on Aramis' forehead. "No," he said. "Just relentless."

Aramis sighed and closed his eyes again. He was still too pale.

"Are you hungry?" Porthos suddenly asked. "You haven't eaten since the day before yesterday."

"I'm sure Serge has some soup," said d'Artagnan, not waiting for Aramis to answer. "I'll go get some." With that, he stood and quickly left.

Porthos took over d'Artagnan's spot and rewet the cloth before placing it back on Aramis' forehead.

For some reason, the contact sent a shiver down Aramis' body and made him shudder.

Porthos grabbed his arm. "Hey, what was that?" he asked.

"Dunno," Aramis tiredly slurred. "Sorry."

"Don't go to sleep yet, Aramis," said Athos. "You need to eat."

Aramis didn't answer. His mind had started to get foggy again, and he hardly understood what Athos had said.

Porthos frowned when Aramis' face paled even more than it already was. "He's passin' out," he said, able to tell that it wasn't normal sleep that was trying to take their friend. He grabbed both of Aramis' shoulders and shook him, before tapping his face when that didn't work. "Aramis…stay awake!"

Aramis made a soft sound and moved his head, and Porthos suddenly put his hands under his friend's armpits and pulled him upright against him. He inwardly winced when his friend's head bumped into his shoulder. "Sorry," he whispered, before looking at Athos. "Stand up the pillows," he told him.

Athos quickly obeyed, and helped Porthos lean Aramis back against them so he was sitting upright. Athos remained sitting on the bed and held onto Aramis to prevent him from falling over.

Porthos grabbed the cup on the nightstand and filled it with water again before bringing it to Aramis' lips, hoping that it would revive him.

Aramis was too close to unconsciousness to drink, and didn't react at first. He eventually felt Porthos' hand on the side of his face holding his head up, and realized what was happening.

"That's it," Porthos said, when Aramis finally started to drink it.

Athos watched with concern, still tightly holding Aramis's arm to keep him upright. He reached around their sick friend's chest and grabbed the wet towel that had slid off when they'd sat him up, and held it to Aramis' forehead, hoping the feel of the cold would help to revive him.

It certainly did, and made Aramis shiver again.

Porthos put the empty cup back on the nightstand before turning back and finding their friend's eyes still closed. "Aramis," he said. "Look at us."

It took a moment before Aramis' eyes fluttered open slightly before closing again. "Tired," he mumbled.

Athos tightened the grip on him. "You can sleep after you eat," he said.

Aramis gave no reply.

D'Artagnan came back a minute later with a bowl of soup. "Still awake?" he asked.

"Just barely," Athos told him.

D'Artagnan brought the soup over and Porthos took it, scooping some up in the spoon before bringing it to their friend's lips. "Aramis? Open wide."

Athos, having taken over holding Aramis' head up, tapped his cheek a little roughly. "Aramis," he sternly said.

Aramis opened his eyes slightly and blinked at Porthos. He made an obvious effort to stay awake and allowed Porthos to feed him.

Everyone was relieved to see him finally eat, and Porthos managed to get more than half of the soup into him before Aramis finally nodded off in between spoonfuls. They laid him flat again and watched him sleep.

"When do you plan to tell him the truth?" d'Artagnan whispered to Athos.

"When he is alert enough to notice that we are hiding something from him," Athos answered.

D'Artagnan couldn't argue that. He almost asked, 'and when do you think that will be?' but he knew that no one could answer that reliably.

The door suddenly opened and Treville walked in. He came over and looked down at the bed. "How is he?"

"He woke for a little while and had some soup," said Porthos.

Treville looked at him. "Was he strong enough to feed himself?"

Porthos shook his head.

"You should know that we did not tell him yet that this is Richelieu's doing," Athos told Treville.

Treville opened his mouth to ask why, before figuring it out and nodding.

Porthos sighed. "I don't suppose you came up with some idea to get the Cardinal's hooks outta him?"

Treville echoed the sigh. "No. I'm not sure _what_ we're going to do."

TBC


	12. Better

The night passed slowly, with Athos, Porthos, d'Artagnan, and Treville taking turns sleeping and watching over Aramis, as well as trying to come up with a solution to the Richelieu problem.

They came up with nothing.

Aramis slept most of the night; the few times he'd woken, he hadn't been very aware of anything and simply dropped back to sleep. His fever remained unchanged, and that was very worrisome.

The next day brought heavy rain around mid-morning, and the noise woke Aramis abruptly. He opened his eyes and found Treville sitting beside the bed, rewetting the cloth on his forehead.

Treville was glad to see him awake. "Good morning," he said. "How do you feel?"

Aramis thought about it for a moment before answering. "Better." It was the truth; he wasn't dizzy anymore, just lightheaded, and his headache wasn't bad.

Treville smiled as he wrung out the towel. "I'm glad to hear that. Your fever has finally broken," he said, using the towel to wipe away the sweat from Aramis' forehead and face.

Aramis closed his eyes; the cool water felt wonderful on his skin. "Where are the others?"

Treville motioned to the left. "Asleep."

Aramis reopened his eyes. "How long has it been?"

"Two days since you returned," Treville told him.

Aramis tried to blink away the lightheadedness and turned his head to see his three friends sprawled in chairs. Porthos was lightly snoring, as usual.

Treville poured a cup of water. "Here," he said. He helped Aramis sit up a little and held the cup as he drank.

Aramis raised a hand to take the cup, but Treville didn't let go. Once it was empty, Treville put it back on the nightstand before placing his hand on Aramis' forehead. The fever had broken, but it was still slightly there, so he placed the wet towel back on his forehead.

Aramis closed his eyes and let out a breath. He still felt weak and tired.

Porthos snorted in his sleep and woke himself up. He sleepily blinked and looked towards the bed, and when he spotted Aramis sitting up, he nearly fell out of his chair in his haste to stand. "He's awake!" he exclaimed.

The other two instantly woke at his voice.

Aramis opened his eyes at his friend's excited words, and watched as they hurried to the bed. He smiled at them.

The other three smiled back. "You look better," said Porthos.

Aramis nodded. "I'm fine."

Athos rolled his eyes.

D'Artagnan chuckled. "I wouldn't go that far just yet."

"His fever has broken," said Treville.

That was the best news they could have gotten. Porthos sighed with relief and sat on the side of the bed. "I dunno about them," he said, gesturing to Athos and d'Artagnan. "But there were a few times when I wasn't sure that you were going to make it."

Aramis reached over and put a hand on his arm. "Forgive me for worrying you."

Porthos shook his head and patted his hand. "No need for forgiveness. Just get back to your old self and we'll be happy."

Aramis smiled.

"Are you hungry?" d'Artagnan asked. "I can get you some more soup."

Aramis shook his head. "Not right now, thank you." He looked at Athos, who was quiet, as usual. "I seem to recall you mentioning who poisoned me, but the details escape me now."

"It was Antoine, the new recruit," Athos told him. "He put poison on the hilt of your sword. Every time you held it, the substance was absorbed into your blood."

Aramis sighed. "Why? Someone put him up to it, I assume?"

Everyone looked at Athos, to see what he would say.

Aramis noticed. "What aren't you telling me?"

Athos sighed. "Antoine told us that the Cardinal paid him to do it."

Any color that Aramis had regained in his face quickly drained away. "The Cardinal?"

Athos nodded.

Aramis looked away, appearing dazed.

"Take it easy," Porthos said. "Antoine is dead and the Cardinal doesn't know it. We have time to figure out what to do."

Aramis took a deep breath. "Adele." He shook his head. "He must've found out."

"It appears so," said Athos.

"If he does anything to hurt her…" Aramis said.

"Don't think about that," said Porthos. "There's nothing you can do anyway."

That was true. Aramis sighed and closed his eyes. He was silent for a moment, before saying, "Do we have a plan?"

"Not yet," said d'Artagnan.

"We'll figure it out, Aramis," said Treville. "Just rest, regain your strength."

Aramis sighed again, making no reply.

The rest of the day passed slowly. It continued to rain, darkening his mood even more. It appeared that the poison was leaving his bloodstream, as he didn't lose consciousness again or fall asleep in the middle of eating…when he actually ate.

"Come on, Aramis, don't tell us that you aren't hungry again," Porthos said, as they had supper.

Aramis sighed. "Being the subject of the Cardinal's murderous quest tends to spoil one's appetite," he answered. He picked at his food but forced himself to eat as much as he could, knowing that he wouldn't get stronger otherwise.

The rain continued into the night, and despite Aramis' troubled mind, he slept, his body still weak and demanding rest. His dreams were distressing and woke him more than once, but he never remembered what he'd dreamed, which was a blessing. When morning came, the lingering headache and lightheadedness were minor, and his fever was completely gone. He wanted to get out of bed, but his friends wouldn't let him.

"It's too soon, Aramis," said Porthos. "You're still too weak."

Aramis sighed. "If the Cardinal is going to try to kill me some other way now, then I need to find out how mobile I am."

"You're right," Athos said. He pulled the covers off their friend and reached for Aramis' arm, helping him sit up on the side of the bed.

"I hope you don't regret this," said Porthos as he took his friend's other arm.

"So do I," Aramis answered. He blinked his eyes a few times.

"Dizzy again?" d'Artagnan asked, watching with concern.

"Not unexpected, considering," Aramis answered.

No one countered his statement. "Let us know when you're ready," Athos said, patiently.

Aramis wisely stayed put for another moment before telling them so, and they carefully pulled him to his feet.

Aramis sucked in a breath when the room swirled before his face, and he closed his eyes. He felt Athos and Porthos move to sit him back down on the bed, but he said, "No," and managed to remain standing.

Porthos sighed as he tightened his grip.

The intensity of the dizziness lessened, and Aramis opened his eyes to see d'Artagnan's worried face in front of his own, having grabbed Aramis under the armpits while Athos and Porthos held him up on each side.

"I believe the answer is, 'not at all'," Athos suddenly said.

"What?" Aramis answered, blinking his vision into focus.

"To the question of how mobile you are."

Despite the situation, Aramis chuckled. "Nonsense…you know what it's like to stand up the first time after being bedridden." With that, he took a step forward, which forced d'Artagnan to take a step back.

"What are you doing?" d'Artagnan asked.

"You're bright," said Aramis. "I'm sure you can figure it out."

D'Artagnan smiled and shook his head. "You're very stubborn."

"A shared trait between all of us," Athos remarked.

D'Artagnan, still smiling, let go of him and moved aside so Aramis could attempt walking with Porthos and Athos' help. He took a few shuffling steps, still feeling weak, but he managed.

"Let go," Aramis told Athos.

"Are you sure?" Athos asked.

"Yes."

Athos obeyed, knowing that Porthos would never let him fall. He and d'Artagnan watched Aramis slowly walk around the room with Porthos' help, and he did all right, considering how sick he'd been.

Porthos brought Aramis back to the bed and sat him down. "That was pretty good," he remarked.

"Considering," said Aramis, breathing fast. "But not good enough; I don't want any of you hurt defending me because I'm too weak to properly defend _myself_."

"You haven't given yourself a chance to recover," said Athos. "You know that it can take some time to regain lost strength."

Aramis looked at him. "We don't _have_ any time," he said. "This is the _Cardinal_ we're dealing with!"

Everyone knew that he was right.

"You can't will yourself to get stronger any faster, Aramis," said d'Artagnan.

"Staying in bed will keep me weak," Aramis told them. "If I lie down, I'll sleep."

"Good, sleep is what you need the most," Porthos argued.

Aramis shook his head. "I need to be active."

"Active?" they suddenly heard.

Turning, they saw that Treville had come into the room.

"You fever has barely left and you want to be active?" he said, as he walked over to the bed. "Your body isn't ready, you'll only make the fever return."

Aramis shook his head, even though it made him lightheaded. "The substance has left my blood," _At least, most of it,_ Aramis thought. "The poison is what caused the fever, not some illness. It's not the same thing."

"If one of _us_ had been poisoned, you would not let us out of our bed," Athos said.

"That's right," said Porthos. "And you would risk your life to defend us from further harm."

Aramis looked up at them with a sigh. "And _you_ would feel the same way that I do and be making the same argument that I am."

That was true. Not only that, but it wasn't as if Aramis had some painful injury that would worsen with movement.

"You are not leaving this room," said Athos. "If you want to remain out of bed, so be it, there are plenty of chairs."

Aramis couldn't ask for more, considering that they were right and it _was_ foolish for him to get up so soon. "Fine."

As one, each of the others were suddenly in motion; Athos and d'Artagnan grabbing chairs while Porthos pulled a blanket off the bed.

Treville stepped closer to Aramis, as if having the duty of preventing him from standing up.

Porthos shook out the blanket and wrapped it around Aramis from behind, and he and Treville pulled him to his feet and helped him walk over to the chairs that the others had placed near the window. Porthos stood up a pillow on one chair to cushion Aramis' back and head, and they gently lowered him to sit, with Athos grabbing his legs and placing them onto the other chair. Porthos went back to the bed and grabbed another blanket, draping it over Aramis and tucking in the ends.

"How's that?" Porthos asked.

Aramis looked at himself practically cocooned, and smiled at them. "You make me feel truly spoiled, my friends."

They all smiled back at him.

"You'd better stay there," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis nodded. "I will. Thank you." He looked towards the window, wishing that he could sit right beside it and watch the goings-on in the garrison, but he knew that he was safer out of sight, should Richelieu decide to simply have someone shoot him through the window.

"What's wrong?" Porthos suddenly asked.

Aramis sighed. "I don't like being hidden."

The others understood; none of them would like it either. "It won't be for long," d'Artagnan said, sounding determined. "We promise."

Aramis nodded, hoping that it was a promise they'd be able to keep.

TBC


	13. Resolution

The morning passed very slowly for Aramis. None of his three friends were ever out of his room for long, as it was possible that the Cardinal could send another spy, and if the spy told Richelieu that they were no longer constantly staying with Aramis, he'd know that it meant that Aramis was recovering. They longer they stayed in the room, the more likely it seemed that Aramis was still at death's door.

Used to being a man of action, Aramis was thoroughly bored. He was glad to be out of bed, but eventually, the hard chair started to make his body ache. "I need to get up," Aramis eventually said, having promised his friends that he wouldn't stand without someone's help.

Porthos was instantly there, lifting his friend's legs down from the other chair before wrapping an arm around Aramis, blankets and all. "Go slow," he said, having a feeling that his body would be cramped after sitting there for so long.

Aramis obeyed, standing slowly. The blanket over his front fell away and Porthos grabbed it with his other arm, tossing it onto the chair.

Once upright, Aramis winced at the protest from many of his muscles. It was a few seconds before he could straighten up all the way.

"That is another reason why we wished you to remain in bed," said Athos from his place near the window, as he discreetly searched for threats.

Aramis nodded, looking over at his comfortable mattress.

Porthos started to steer him over to it, but Aramis halted him. "Can we take a turn around the room first?" he asked. "I need to stretch."

"All right," Porthos said. He helped him walk around so he could get the stiffness out of his body. "How you feelin'?" he asked. "The _truth_."

"Much better than I was," Aramis told him.

"That's not what I asked," Porthos said. "Still have a headache? Dizzy at all?"

Aramis sighed, but didn't blame his friend for wanting to know. "Minor headache, dizzy only occasionally. Mostly I'm just tired."

"Then you should sleep," Porthos told him. "D'Artagnan should be back any minute with food; after that, you're takin' a nap, got it?"

Aramis knew that he was right. "Got it."

Porthos made him get back into bed, and d'Artagnan returned with their lunch a few moments later. Aramis kept his word and went to sleep afterwards, dropping off within minutes and sleeping straight until suppertime.

Upon waking, he blinked at his friends, who were sitting around his bed eating. "Didn't we just have lunch?" he asked, groggily.

"Sure did," said Porthos. "This is supper."

Aramis blinked again, as if trying to wrap his mind around the fact.

"You slept very soundly," said Athos. "We were debating— _quietly_ —on whether or not to wake you before yours got cold."

Aramis turned his head to see a plate on the nightstand beside him. He wasn't very hungry, but hot food was better than cold food, so he sat up as d'Artagnan grabbed the plate and placed it on his lap.

"The Cardinal thinks that you are still very ill," Athos said. "Treville told them that you are unconscious with a high fever."

Aramis nodded, suddenly realizing that Queen Anne was being told the lie too. He knew that she would be very worried, and regretted the situation, for her sake.

"Are you gonna eat it or stare at it?" Porthos suddenly asked.

Aramis came back to himself and ate, though he only managed slightly more than half of what he was given, and only that much because he forced himself.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked.

Aramis gave the same answer that he always did. "Better."

"Something wrong with your stomach?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis shook his head. "Not at all, I'm just not hungry."

No one could say that they were very surprised, considering the situation. After everyone finished eating, they convinced Aramis to stay in bed and he fell back to sleep, not waking again until around midnight, when a hand gently touched his forehead.

It was Athos. "Forgive me," he said. "Your face looked flushed and I was afraid that your fever had returned."

Aramis blinked a few times before he was able to speak, his mind feeling foggy. "Has it?" he asked.

Athos shook his head. "No."

Aramis was relieved. "I was dreaming." He lifted his right hand and swiped it across his forehead, which was slightly damp with sweat.

"Something distressing?" Athos asked, reaching for a towel on the nightstand.

Aramis nodded. "Yes, though I can't remember it now."

"That is fortunate," Athos replied, wetting the towel in the basin of water and wringing it out.

Aramis nodded again, closing his eyes. He pulled both arms out from under the covers, feeling too warm. He wondered what he'd been dreaming about to cause such a reaction, but he was glad that he couldn't remember…he had enough to think about.

Athos reached forward with the wet towel and wiped away the sweat from Aramis' face and forehead.

"Thank you," Aramis whispered.

"My pleasure," Athos replied, thinking back to how many times Aramis had tirelessly doctored _them_.

Aramis smiled slightly before falling back to sleep, and he woke the next morning feeling—surprisingly—fine.

"You're serious?" Porthos said.

Aramis nodded, sitting up in his bed. "I feel fine. No headache, no dizziness."

"Do you still feel weak?" asked d'Artagnan.

Aramis had to think about that one for a few seconds. "Not overly." He knew that he wasn't fit to go right back on duty, but he no longer needed to be bedridden.

Athos quietly studied him. Aramis did indeed look well, if still slightly paler than normal. He nodded. "That is indeed good news," he said, with a little smile.

Aramis threw back the covers and stood. He had a few seconds of feeling lightheaded, but it passed quickly and wasn't noticed by the others. "How long has it been?" he asked.

"If you count the two days before we left, a week," said Porthos.

Aramis was surprised. It had been seven days ago that the lightheadedness and dizzy spells had begun? He suddenly sat down again and pulled up his left sleeve, displaying the still-bandaged cut that he'd received from Pierre's sword. The stitches looked fine, but were not ready to be removed yet.

"We kept an eye on that too," said Porthos. "You were never awake when we rebandaged it."

Aramis nodded, before looking towards the window, wanting nothing more than to go outside. "Has anyone come up with a solution to my problem?"

"No," said d'Artagnan.

"Short of killin' him," said Porthos.

Aramis sighed. "I'm not staying in this room forever. We have to think of something!"

It turned out that they didn't need to, after all. Late that afternoon, the palace bells started ringing, indicating that something serious had taken place. Everyone assumed that it was the birth of the new prince or princess, but it turned out to be something else that no one could ever have expected.

Athos sent d'Artagnan to find out what had happened, and when he returned and dashed back into the room, they all waited with bated breath.

"Richelieu is dead!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

Everyone was speechless for a moment.

"Dead?" Aramis repeated.

D'Artagnan nodded. "Yes. You're free, Aramis!"

Aramis suddenly had to sit down, and sit down he did. He felt a hand grab his shoulder, and knew that it was Porthos.

"You all right?" he asked.

Aramis nodded, dazedly. "I'm fine." He looked at his friends and opened his mouth to ask if they had anything to do with it, before changing his mind. His friends were very loyal, but they weren't murderers.

Treville came in a short while later, to see the four Musketeers in various stages of emotion.

Athos looked as impassive as ever, but Treville was one of the only people in the word who could detect something else in his eyes: relief.

D'Artagnan was smiling, not disguising his opinion on the matter.

Porthos was standing next to a sitting Aramis, his hand on his friend's shoulder. He gave Treville a pleased nod as if to say that everything was finally all right with the world.

Aramis looked shocked, obviously unable to believe the news.

"Aramis?" Treville said.

Aramis looked at him.

"In case you were wondering if there was any doubt, there isn't; Cardinal Richelieu is truly dead. You're free."

At the echoing of d'Artagnan's words, Aramis seemed to come back to himself. "I'm free," he repeated.

Porthos squeezed Aramis' shoulder. "This is cause for celebration!" he exclaimed.

"What happened?" Aramis asked Treville.

"They think it was his heart," Treville answered. "He didn't look healthy this morning, seemed pale and breathless. Suddenly he stood from his chair, and keeled over. He gasped a few times, and just…died."

A chill went down Aramis' spine at that. "You were there?"

Treville nodded. "And he knew that he didn't succeed in killing you."

"You told him?" Athos asked.

"I may have whispered it to him just before he died," Treville said with a sheepish smile.

"Are you sure that he was able to understand?" Athos asked.

"Oh yes," Treville answered. "He looked straight into my eyes, mumbled, 'I failed?', and died."

Aramis wasn't sure why he had mixed feelings about the Cardinal's death. The man had committed such evil acts…

"Hey," said Porthos, squeezing his shoulder. "You sure you're all right?"

Aramis nodded. "Just…still shocked." Suddenly, he realized what was causing his unease: the Cardinal was a priest, was supposed to be a humble man of God…but instead of enjoying eternity in heaven as his reward, Richelieu was undoubtedly at this moment in hell, suffering eternal punishment for his treacherous deeds.

Porthos let go of his shoulder and went over to a chair that had Aramis' jacket draped over it. He picked it up and brought it to him. "Feel up to gettin' outta this prison?" he asked. "There's a tavern calling our names."

Aramis silently stood and Porthos held it out for him to slip his arms through the sleeves, then he settled it on his friend's shoulders and watched as Aramis buttoned it.

Athos and d'Artagnan walked over. "Are you sure you're strong enough to go out?" Athos asked.

Aramis looked at him and nodded, before taking his weapons belts and buckling them on. He looked at his sword in the sheath, remembering that it had nearly been the instrument of his death.

"We cleaned it," said d'Artagnan, handing him his hat. "The poison is gone."

"Thank you," Aramis said. He ran a hand through his hair before putting his hat on, and he let out a deep breath as he looked at his friends.

They were all smiling at him, and Aramis couldn't help but smile back.

"Let's go," said Porthos. He slung an arm around his friend's shoulders, and they all walked out the door.

THE END  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I'm glad you enjoyed it! Did anyone expect Richelieu's death? lol


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